No History Like Your Own
by Zura
Summary: Following the destruction of New Vegas by his hand the Courier, now known as the Word Bearer, begins his self-appointed crusade to wipe all traces of the Old World from the face of the Earth. Nowhere is safe from the wrath of the Courier as the town of Sunny Bluff finds out the hard way. Rated M for language, graphic violence and Falloutness. Second of the "Long Division" series
1. The Man, The Myth

In 2282 the Second Battle of Hoover Dam ended with a spectacular display of force that featured at least five warring factions and a number of explosions that hadn't been seen since the Great War itself. Stories of who was involved, who did what and how many died change depending on who you ask. What is clear in all versions of the story is when the dust settled a leaderless NCR ran for its life, a Caesar and Legate-less Legion returned East and a House-less New Vegas was taken over by the dominant Courier and his Securitron army.

Peace, prosperity and the imposing threat of mechanized violence reigned for five good years. Unfortunately for the ever beleaguered wasteland denizens even this semblance of the good life was not to last. Like many tragedies the one to befall New Vegas was sudden and unexpected. On an otherwise pleasant and sunny day a call went out across the entire Strip ordering the inhabitants to evacuate. A similar message was broadcast at the Dam and throughout the Mojave. Two hours later on the mark, with most of the citizens out but not all of them, both New Vegas and the Dam were blown apart by massive explosions that caved in city streets and mountain walls alike. All that was left of the once glorious Strip was a smoking crater rent in the earth like a gate to hell itself.

At first the attack was a mystery that the survivors attributed to the vengeful NCR or perhaps the frumentarii of Caesar's ghost. Word slowly began to spread of a duster clad preacher handing out copies of a book that outlined the impossible. Holotapes of a long dead man named Ulysses were paired with the book that was part history, part philosophy and all warning. In it the man known as the Courier, already a Mojave legend, claimed responsibility for the unspeakable act of leveling his own empire. Not only had he done that but he also claimed to have thrice scorched the wasteland with nuclear fire unintentionally as well as purposefully. He warned the reader in no uncertain terms that should any Post-War societies rely on Old World values and technology that he would personally bring the fabled Divide to them.

At first despite the evidence the book presented it was thought by many to be a hoax. Still, somehow copies of the book spread to what was left of the NCR and the edges of the West. Then in 2288, just a year after the destruction of New Vegas, the city of New Reno suffered the same fate. Though a haven of vice and crime it was still an important trade city with a sizable population. Only fragments of the town were left after dozens of fertilizer based bombs ripped the buildings and streets to pieces. Carved into the ground near the town's wreckage was a symbol nearly fifty feet across: a circle of stars with one in the center. The mark was the Courier's symbol for the Divide and would not be taken lightly ever again.

After New Reno the various leading factions in the West condemned the Courier no matter if they believed him responsible or not. The NCR banned the Courier's book in its territories and made using the Divide's symbol illegal. The Legion, who had no love for the traitorous Mojavite who had killed their Caesar, burned anything to do with him on sight even as it encroached west on the NCR's lands. In spite of the menace he presented there arose groups of people who espoused the Courier's ideals. Referring to him as the Word Bearer they called themselves the Heralds of Ulysses and advocated the restructuring of all societies across the globe. They preached against using anything left from the Old World and warned that the Word Bearer himself would fall on those who ignored them.

Even with angry citizens and governments burning copies of Ulysses' Word new ones still seemed to circulate. The legend of the Courier grew as towns and settlements were wiped off the face of the earth either by flame, explosives or slaughter. Each time there was only a single symbol carved into the ground to show who had been there. The man who was once a courier left his mark and a newly printed copy of his book near the smoldering wreckage of each town he purged. Eventually he became a boogeyman always lurking in the shadows who waited patiently to drag entire cities into his Divide.

Some believed that all of the acts of destruction could not be the work of just one man. Others claimed to have seen the original Courier die years ago. Whatever the truth was behind the man by now no one ignored his symbol when it appeared. The settlement of Sunny Bluff was in a for a surprise on a gray morning in 2289. The Mark had been made just hundreds of feet away from the outskirts of their town. The Courier was near and he left entire nations dead in his wake. The townspeople could only pray to the wasteland gods who had forsaken them that there was enough time to evacuate before he returned.


	2. The Taking Of 3rd Acre

Situated on a mesa the town of Sunny Bluff was a tough postwar locale that had many times used its natural position to repel raiders and other radioactive threats. Built around an old prewar water plant the town had the good fortune to have a ready supply of precious water as long as they could keep the plant powered. Given that people of the wasteland killed each other over drinkable liquid this was a considerable advantage for them when it came to survival.

It was ironically the plant that had allowed the town to prosper that now marked it for annihilation. It would fall to their leader to help decide what their best course of action was. With a population close to sixty order was kept by sometimes mayor and sometimes sheriff Red Cathburn. A lumbering man who had gladly put his scavving days behind him Cathburn had come to respect his home and the people in it. He did not want to see it demolished by a phantom from the north any more than he wanted to see it taken over by raiders.

Taking his three deputies with him he approached the hut on the outside edges of the settlement where the mesa began to slope downward. Its lone occupant had only been here six months and had not been especially welcome in the town in the first place. Holding a thick blue book to him when he arrived Marcus made no attempt to hide the fact that he was a Herald of Ulysses. Preaching to any who would listen that their reliance on the water plant was a mistake Cathburn wrote him off as another wasteland crazy who at least paid for his meals. Now though no one even dared approach his humble home for fear of what he represented.

Cathburn thought that the timing of his arrival was suspicious and was determined to find out if he knew anything about the upcoming attack. Checking his pistol the sheriff knocked on the haphazardly built shack made entirely of wood. The four men waited anxiously until a mousey little man in a leather duster opened the door. He was sporting a fresh bruise on the side of his face that must have been from one of the locals.

"Marcus." Cathburn greeted him with a nod. "I assume you know why we're here."

"Come in." the Herald said and let them into his home. Curiously almost everything inside was made from wood including the cutlery which did not seem to be in the shapes of spoons or forks. Cathburn had never seen the oddly twisting utensils anywhere else but here.

"What with all the wood?" Cathburn's right hand man Biggs asked the Herald.

"Your people make your homes with scraps of the Old World and in its image." Marcus explained. "Mine is of the earth and my own design."

Looking around Cathburn saw that the entire house was halfway packed already. Many items were already stacked and ready to be put into what looked like custom made bags. "Going somewhere?" he asked.

"Yes and I suggest you all do the same." Marcus replied without looking up from folding clothes. "I've seen the Mark as you have. It's only a matter of time now."

"Until what?"

"What I've been trying to tell you for six months." the small man sighed. "People know about your plant for miles around. Did you think you could hide from him? Did you think he would ignore such blatant disregard for his warnings?"

"The Courier's a myth. This guy probably made the mark himself." one of the other deputies insisted.

"Ask New Reno if he's a myth. And I was at the saloon all night last night. You can ask anyone."

"And you're sure you know nothing about it?" Cathburn pressed.

"Red, if I knew this place was going to be blown up I wouldn't have built a damn house here." Marcus shook his head.

"Why did you build a house here then?"

"I thought I could convince a few people to get while the getting was good. I thought I had a few years before he came for Sunny Bluff. I was wrong."

"Are you sure he'll attack?" Cathburn asked with less confrontation in his voice.

"I'm sure. Those stars might as well be skulls for all the lives the Courier has taken. You're only going to get one warning, Red. I suggest you take it."

"But he's only one guy, right?" Biggs asked.

"You don't get it do you?" Marcus looked at them sadly. "The Word Bearer is close. Presidents and tyrants, cities and countries, they all tremble at the mention of his name and with good reason. This is the same 'one guy' that buried the Legion, House, the Strip families and the NCR at the same time."

"There has to be a way to stop him, bargain with him." Cathburn reasoned.

"The Courier killed Caesar almost unarmed and surrounded by a dozen Praetorian guards. Fought his way to the Monster of the East and took his head off with the legate's own blade. Threw General Oliver off the side of Hoover Dam along with his ranger escort. Tracked Ulysses through a hell on earth that would scare a Deathclaw. I've seen the Divide with my own eyes. I barely made it a hundred paces in." Marcus said with a far away look in his thin face. "With a blade in his hand the Courier's death in a leather duster. He won't rest until he's ripped this town in half and he doesn't give a damn who's still here when he does. For everyone's sake, evacuate the town."

"I can't just tell folks to get out. Some of them have been here their whole lives. What do I say, 'sorry about the only home you've ever known, hit the road'?

"I can do no more for you. Good luck." Marcus said and extended his hand. Cathburn reluctantly shook it and the smaller man returned to packing.

"What happened to your face, son?"

"Ah...I tried to talk to some folks about leaving down at the saloon. There was a traveler there from New Vegas. We kinda got into a fight when I mentioned the Word Bearer."

"New Vegas? Sounds like a guy we should talk to." Biggs suggested.

Cathburn nodded and tipped his hat at their host. "Let's go have a little chat with this visitor, boys."

* * *

At the saloon there were the usual suspects milling around in their favorite spots. It was more crowded than usual for the middle of the day and people were definitely scared. All conversation stopped when Cathburn and the others entered the building. Scanning the stools he saw a stranger sitting by himself in the far corner. Ignoring the eyes Cathburn and his men moved over to the only person they didn't recognize.

Dressed from head to toe in brown leather the stranger was average height and wore his black cowboy hat low to just above his eyes. Huddling over his beer like he was worried it would get stolen he didn't seem to notice them approach.

"'Scuse me, stranger." Cathburn said. Turning to face them the unknown man slid off his stool to lean against the bar. He was clean shaven and had a somewhat tan complexion but had to be highly interbred like many in the postwar West. Dark brown eyes that bordered on near black studied them with a ready suspiciousness.

"Can I help you, mister?" the stranger asked with a drawl.

"I'm Red Cathburn, kinda the man about town. You are?" he asked as he put out his hand.

The stranger looked down but he didn't move. "Lyle."

"I heard you got into a scuffle with one of our people." Cathburn said as he took his hand back.

"Shit, man. Look, that pipsqueak had it comin'. Come in here scaring goodly folk with talk about that son o' a bitch Courier." Lyle spoke rapidly.

"What do you know about the Courier?" Biggs asked.

"Man, what don't I know about that asshole?" Lyle said as he relaxed on the bar again. "That other fella musta told you I'm from New Vegas. Shit, I was born and raised 'til that dickbag blew the place sky high. Nuttin' left but a hole where the Strip was."

"You ever seen him in person?" Cathburn asked.

"Hells fuckin' yeah I have. That shit ain't none o' y'alls business though." Lyle said as disdainfully as someone who spoke like him could have.

"Answer the question you prairie fuck." Biggs threatened.

"Watch your mouth, son. I've kicked the ass out of tougher men than you or whatever pussy that was your daddy. When I say it's my business I mean it."

Before Cathburn could stop him Biggs stepped forward and gripped the stranger by the collar. In a blur Lyle wrenched the deputy's hand off him and downward. The movement dropped Biggs' head to waist level and with his free arm the stranger dropped his elbow on the back of the deputy's head. Face planting on the floor Biggs groaned as Lyle rested his boot heel on his skull.

Both of Cathburn's men whipped pistols out and trained them on Lyle who held up his hands in surprise. "Whoa, whoa! Your boy put his hands on me!" he protested.

"You want to tell us about the Courier or do we take this outside?" Cathburn asked.

"All right, jaysis, don't shoot, I'll tell ya."

Cathburn helped a dazed Biggs into a chair while Lyle found his beer and drained it. Staring into the empty mug he rapped it on the bar and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Y'all ever hear of 3rd Acre?"

"Not that I can think of."

"It's a piece up north, past New Vegas. Not there anymore, on account of the Courier. Listen close 'cause I ain't gonna repeat myself."

* * *

Like I said I was born in New Vegas. Grew up outside the Strip tryin' to make a livin' farming. My daddy taught me to shoot before he died to disease, canner or canter or somethin'. Mom only lasted a few years longer than him. We was always poor but I made a good livin' doin' odd jobs for the caravans when I was older. I was there when that Hoover Dam shit went down, both times. The second one was a fuckin' act o' God. Bombs going off every second, I swear to you gents I saw a flying machine that day high up in the air.

That's about when I first heard about the Courier. He was an ornery bastard even back then an' he put the whuppin' on House, Cee-sar, NCR, he didn't give a fuck. He was one o' us, ya know? Get rid o' all them that wasn't Mojave born. Hell, I even liked him back then. Stayed in that tower, left the power on, didn't bother us caravan folk. Can't ask for much more then that.

Then one day I'm gettin' shitfaced and we get a message to evacuate. No warning, no reason, just get out before detonation! I don't know how many folks didn't leave but I was a good two miles away and the shit still almost knocked me down. Didn't find out 'til damn near eight months later that the asshole did it himself. What kinda prick blows up his hometown and then writes a book about it? I'm getting' mad just thinkin' on it.

Ain't nothing left for me there so I went north. I got out with my caps so I kinda drifted a spell. A year later I end up in this place called 3rd Acre. They had an old power station runnin' like y'all got here. On the other side o' town they had this tall ass lookout tower so they could spot outsiders comin'.

I had been there a week when that star thing showed up outside town. By that time we'd all heard about New Reno and folks were scared shitless. Me, I wanted a piece o' that fucker. I'd never killed a man in cold blood but I'd make an exception for that one.

We got the women and children out. Starting rounding up all the people willin' to fight and gathered up by the plant 'cause we figured he'd come there first. We kept look outs posted in every direction for two days. Ain't shit up there but dust so you would see a man comin' a mile away.

The third day 'bout noon we heard something explode on the other side of town. Had to be aroun' seventy of us at the plant so twenty went to the other side of town to find him. People ran into the traps almost immediately. Bastard had been booby trappin' the whole town while we fucked off at the plant. We lost damn near everyone to bombs, darts and shit. Pretty soon though we were pickin' our noses just before the look out tower. Then he started takin' shots at us from up above.

There were only...what, 5 of us left then? Just gettin' to the tower. We lit up the crow's nest but he kept shootin' like clockwork. Even when the last five of us made it to the tower's base he kept shooting. We went up slow and quiet like so as not to spook him. I hung back and good thinkin' for it since the first bastard stepped on a mine that blew him and the second guy to pieces. Third idiot tripped a wai-re and took a steel spike to the brain. Two of us left now and I let the other guy go in first when we got the crow's nest.

We bust in ready to end this fucker and it's a damn dead body with a rifle strapped to it. He's set up a timer to pull the trigger every minute while we killed ourselves on his traps. I feelin' the shots were too regular but I didn't count on this shit. The other guy with me, he was born and raised in 3rd Acre, straight the fuck ran outta town. But me, I had no home to go back to thanks to this Courier fuck. Where was I goin' back to? I figured if I was gonna die that day I'd at least lay eyes on that bastard and take a shot at 'em. So I headed back through the traps to the plant.

* * *

A crowd of townspeople had gathered around the stranger and were listening with rapt attention until Lyle paused for a moment to gulp his new beer.

"Hold on." one of the deputies said. "You're telling us twenty people ran into traps over and over again?"

"You ain't ever seen traps like these." Lyle shook his head. "Motherfucker buried them in the sand, matched the tripwire colors to the ground and buildings, covered up pressure plates with bits of paper. Asshole must have been at it for days without us knowing."

"Hot damn..."

"Yeah, now don't fuckin' interrupt me again."

* * *

I'm a good fifty feet from the plant when the smell hits me. It's the stank of gasoline and burning flesh. You don't ever forget that kinda thing, not ever. I was chokin' on it when I came up to the plant. Then I fuckin' see him.

There's gas in the air like he'd set off smoke bombs everywhere. It's mostly cleared out by then except the bodies ain't. I'd left fifty people back at the plant an' ain't one of them was alive. They was blown up, shot up, burned up, cut up. Standin' there in the middle o' 'em like the fuckin' devil was him, the Courier. He got one of them dusters on like those faggots who follow him wear. Had a gas mask so I couldn't see his face and was wearin' a gas tank on his back. In his hand he's got a fuckin' flamin' sword, no joke. Fucker's covered in blood, dripping off him and shit, then he looks up at me like _I'm_ the dickhead ruinin' his day.

I ain't gonna lie. I damn near shit myself. We started seventy to one and now it was just me an' him. My rifle was shakin' in my hands and I was ready to tuck tail an' run. Just then he throws something at me an' smoke blows up in my face. I'm coughing and crying when he comes out of the shit like an evil ghost. I try to shoot but I gotta get my arms up to keep that blade away from me. It kinda works.

* * *

Lyle got up off his stool and rolled up the sleeves on his leather outfit. Across his arms from the wrist up were ugly lines, cuts and gashes that marred his whole arm and likely continued all the way to the shoulder. He had suffered grievous wounds from the Courier's heated blade that had long since turns to scars.

"Damn..."

"Hooooly..."

Cathburn whistled. "You're lucky to be alive."

"Shit, you're telling me." Lyle agreed.

* * *

I ain't sure how I got a shot off with my arms getting' hacked up but I did. Couldn't be sure if I even hit him but he was there a second and gone into the smoke another. I fuckin' ran like I'd never run before. Ran for my fuckin' life. Ran 'til my legs gave out and I fell down bleedin' all over the place. I was maybe a few miles away when I heard the explosion go off.

I didn't need to go check to know 3rd Acre was gone. Even if there was shit to scav a town of over a hundred just disappeared. If he was in the north, I was heading south as fast as I could. Damn near lost my right arm but I got it patched up at some podunk place along the way. Been trying to raise the caps to keep going south. Maybe that bastard won't follow me there.

* * *

Lyle sat back in his chair and chugged his beer. Tapping it on the bar for another he stared into space as Cathburn and his men tried to wrap their heads around his story. The stranger belched loudly and shook his head.

"Part o' me wants to stay and help y'all. I owe that piece o' shit all the hurt in the world. But I ain't gonna stand against that boy again. He's got the unholy luck of a fuckin' demon and if we tango again I don't see myself makin' it out alive. I'm clearin' out soon as I'm done gettin' good an' drunk."

The crowd that had gathered around them to listen dispersed and Cathburn was left with some serious thinking to do. Lyle turned back to his beer and swirled around the foamy beverage in his glass. "Fuckin' Courier..." he muttered.


	3. Old Wounds

After several more hours at the bar Lyle left his caps on the counter. Nodding to the bartender he strode out of the saloon and took the southwest route out of town. Dusk was a few hours away as he made his way down the slope of the mesa to the arid ground below. Walking four miles or so from Sunny Bluff he turned towards a large hill with a yucca plant at it's base. Looking all around him for any traffic Lyle moved behind the plant and started excavating with his hands. Uncovering a small metal safety box he adjusted the combination and the dusty box popped open.

Inside was a gleaming Pip-Boy long since returned to working order. Sliding it onto his left arm Lyle clamped it on and the screen came to life. He sensed movement behind him and whirled around to see a red laser light show concentrated on his chest. He realized too late that he had walked right into an ambush. Unarmed, unarmored and caught off guard with at least a dozen red dots on his chest all he could do was hold up his hands.

From the left three figures came out of the dust. As they came closer Lyle was dismayed to see the unmistakable black armor of the NCR's very best, the Veteran Rangers. Sweating just a little Lyle scarcely dared move as they came up to him. Two of them kept the excessively large Ranger Sequoias pointed at him as they approached. At this range there would be nothing left of Lyle's skull if he made a move.

"H-howdy gents." he gulped. "If it's caps you want I'm sure we can work somethin' out."

Wordlessly the two rangers with hand cannons circled behind him. The third stood in front of him but enough to the side that the snipers still had clear shots.

"It's on." one of the rangers reported from behind him.

"If y'all want the Pip-Boy, y'all can have it. Ain't worth dyin' over."

"Cut the shit." the ranger in front of him said. "We know who you are."

He leaned forward ever so slightly to add, "Courier."

Lyle's eyes slowly changed from wide and scared to calm and cold. When he spoke again his drawl was gone and his voice was deeper. "Then you know you only have one chance to live, Ranger. You'd better shoot me now because if I get loose, I'm going to set your heads on pikes."

They hit him from behind with tasers and his body crumpled to the electric current. Hitting the ground hard he jerked and sputtered involuntarily as the rangers expertly bound him in seconds. Knocking off his hat they slipped a black hood over his face before hoisting him up off his feet. His body stopped convulsing just before they threw him into a wagon being pulled by what smelled like Brahmin. His day had just gone considerably downhill.

* * *

It had been close to an hour as far as he could tell. At least a dozen men walked alongside the cart to where ever they were going and judging from the rapid heat decrease night was approaching. Turning on their path sharply they rolled to a stop some thirty minutes after the change of course. While it was impossible to determine which direction they had headed the prisoner estimated that it was no more than two miles from where he had buried his Pip-Boy. From the slight echo of the soldier's feet he also knew that he was in a canyon area.

Rough hands pulled him from the wagon and multiple people carried him some twenty five feet or so into a building. He could feel walls around him and the decrease of ambient sound that accompanied leaving the wasteland outside. Continuing another twenty feet or so in the building they set him down and then forced him to sit on a metal chair. Lashing his legs and wrists to the chair he waited for some kind of explanation. Two sets of boots entered the room and stopped just shy of his feet.

"This is him?" an older male voice asked through the static of what had to be another ranger helmet. How many of them had been assigned to track his movements? "He doesn't look the part."

The second person moved in close enough to touch him. Feeling up his hand the person's calloused digits rolled up his sleeve and felt along the numerous cuts on his arms.

"Yikes. I take that back." the first man said as the second ran fingers along the prisoner's disfigured forearms. Working their way up to his forehead the second person briefly sought the two old bullet wounds etched on it. This person knew him well enough to know to check for his tell tale scars.

"It's him." a woman said.

"What happened to his arms?"

"Hand to hand and blade to blade with the White Legs in Utah." the woman accurately explained. Now the prisoner was intrigued. There were few people who knew about New Canaan and fewer still alive to talk about it now.

"Nasty. Well, good job everyone. Stofield, get our new guest locked up good and tight."

"Wait." the woman said. "I want to see his face."

"Are you serious?"

"Yep." she said and for a moment the prisoner almost remembered where he had heard that voice before. It was different but somehow maddeningly familiar as well. The mystery female put her hands on his cheeks by his mouth and the hood was whipped off. Blinking in the florescent light he found himself surrounded by Rangers with a woman cupping his features. She wasn't looking at him with normal eyes but damaged, white pupils that hadn't worked for a long time. Her smooth, oval face had gained a number of lines and was a little heavier but everything else was exactly the way he remembered it. His jaw dropped and the air rushed out of his lungs.

"Ruh...Rose of Sharon Cassidy..." the Courier breathed just barely above a whisper.

* * *

It had been a full week as best he could tell. It was hard to focus with the NCR's best torturing him in ways he hadn't even heard of. He was half-drowned in water and electrocuted at the same time, whipped on a post, beaten with a bat and had a number of his fingernails torn out with pliers. The first three days they didn't even ask him questions. Only on the fourth did they finally ask him for what they wanted: the location of his hidden Securitron army. He laughed so hard he dribbled his own blood and saliva onto himself before passing out.

There really wasn't an end to the beatings but it seemed to wear the soldiers out after a couple hours at a time. Part of him was happy as he knew his body could not sustain itself with such daily abuse. It would give out eventually and he would take the secret of the robots with him to the grave. The NCR would be no closer to saving themselves than they were before he was captured.

Around what should have been the seventh day in the cell he had a visitor. Killing time with a song he was singing to himself as someone made their way down to him.

"I got spurs, that jingle, jangle, jingle..." he hummed. "As I go riding merrily along..."

Feeling along the bars of the empty cell next to him he heard Cass making her way closer. He chuckled through bruised and cracked lips. "What would you give me for a basket of kisses?" he asked.

Once, long ago, they had discovered a working cinema inside one of the Mojave's Vaults. They sat for hours watching films so old they had images of prewar America. He was quoting a line from their favorite movie that they used on each other up until the accident that stole Cass' vision.

He could almost see her sad smile from under his hood. "A basket of kisses? Why, I'll give you a basket of hugs." Cassidy replied exactly how she was supposed to.

"I was wondering when they were going to send you." he sighed. "When the Beast fails, one sends in Beauty."

"They didn't send me." she said though the prisoner didn't quite believe it. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Luckily I have no plans for the day."

"You're not going to tell them anything, are you?"

"No." the Word Bearer said. "It's not quite like how I imagined going out but I've cheated Death too many times in this life. Sooner or later he was bound to catch up with me even if I sprint like him."

"You...don't sound as pissed as I thought you'd be." Cassidy admitted.

"People are generally forgiving at the end of their lives, Cass. When you know for sure your time is almost up there's no use hanging on to old grudges. You of all people should appreciate that."

"Yeah, I appreciate plenty. Being blind. You going crazy and destroying everything I ever had."

Smiling under his hood the prisoner said, "I'm not crazy, Cass. Crazy people do things for no reason. I spent five years trying to come up with different solutions for war. In the end I decided that unless we abandon our old ways we will never be free of them."

"You really think you can change the world by blowing up whole cities?"

"I know I can. I already have started. People have to feel pain to learn anything. So I'll be the bad guy, I'll be the one people hate, the demon, the ghost of New Vegas come to haunt the living. It will be worth it to achieve my goals. No one must be able to take the same path I did. There must never be another Courier."

"Is that what I call you now? Courier? Or is it Word Bearer?"

"I am both, but you may call me Courier. It's a temporary title given to only the most heartless of Heralds when necessary but I suppose it is one I hold for life. Besides, I am not the bearer of words in times of war. And this is a moment of war if I have ever seen one."

Without another word Cassidy got up and felt her way out of the room. Even bound and hooded the prisoner knew that he was onto something with her. There was an opportunity there he would be able to exploit if he had the chance to work on her. Maybe it was old feelings, maybe it was resentment or even guilt but the blind woman carried something for him. A fragment of sentimentality well buried or perhaps subconscious that he could use to his advantage. He wouldn't hope he could use her to escape at the moment but she was his best option.

* * *

Another week passed with no results. Head Ranger Scranton was beginning to become annoyed with their lack of progress on the Courier. Just into his forties and with the weariness of a hundred battles etched onto his face he was still in top shape. The Rangers would retire anyone with physical imperfections and somehow he had managed to avoid serious injury in more than two decades of service. This assignment though was not just the latest in a long line to the hardened ranger. The Courier was responsible for the deaths of more good men then he could even recall and despite the personal vendetta he was even more valuable to the NCR alive. With his Securitron army the Republic could smash the Legion and send them packing back to the East.

Summoning both his insider and their medical expert he was determined to find a way to break the resilient captive. "How's he holding up?" the ranger asked.

"Surprisingly well considering what your men have been doing to him." Dr. Kryzinch reported. "He's healing much faster than he should be but the abuse is still taking its long term toll. I can't be sure what exactly he's done to himself without access to better equipment."

"Any reason to think he can't feel what we're doing to him? I've yet to hear him scream and I know we're hitting him with some nasty stuff."

"Medically, no. I would assume mental toughness unless he's got some kind pain dampening implant. They're excessively rare and costly though."

"No object to him." Cassidy chimed in.

"How long do you think it will take to break him?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you, Ranger. You'd be more familiar with human limits than I would. All I am sure of is that with advanced healing or not he can't take the kind of damage you're inflicting forever."

"What about you, Cass? You talked to him didn't you? Any ideas on what it'll take to crack this guy?"

"You can't." Cassidy said distantly. "If there was ever a man that would never give in, never give up, never back down it would be that one. His daddy must've been a steel girder and his mother a Deathclaw."

"Not very reassuring." Scranton grumbled. "If he doesn't respond to interrogation what kind of options do we have?"

"Well it's outside my specialty but hypnosis, sodium thiopental, sleep deprivation, maybe a white noise machine. We could try getting him addicted to chems and taking them away."

"Any of that going to work?" the ranger raised an eyebrow.

"Won't know unless we try."

"Well let's make it happen then. What do you need?"

"A chem lab, base ingredients, sterile equipment, that kind of thing."

"See Burnside and get it done. Go on, I've gotta have a chat with the lady here."

The good doctor excused himself while Cassidy leaned back in her chair seemingly unconcerned with the proceedings. She wasn't an official part of the NCR per se and though intimidating Scranton held no authority over her. Reaching down into his desk the ranger retrieved a fine Californian cigar. Lighting it with a match he puffed on it as acrid smoke filled his makeshift office.

The blind woman stared at him with corneas crisscrossed with scar tissue. Scranton blew a sweet puff of air off to the side as he watched her. "You're holding out on me." he accused.

"About what?"

"About your old friend. Look, you've been a big help to this operation, I won't lie. You've told us how he operates and moves but nothing solid about the man himself. I need his story or at least what you know of it. Details, little things, anything I can use against him."

"Take my word for it, Ranger. You're wasting your time trying to force him to do what you want."

"You're convinced that's the case. If you thought that then why did you agree to help us?"

"I wanted him stopped. I never promised you could make him talk." she replied flippantly.

"Why are you so sure he won't?"

Cassidy sighed and rubbed her temple. "I ever tell ya the story of how I lost my eyes?"

"As I recall when I asked about it you told me to 'stick my dick elsewhere'."

"It's a hoot." she said bitterly.


	4. Blind Ambition

I didn't think much of him when we first met but I'd be damned if I wasn't a lady of my word. He did right by me so I followed him. Followed him good too, all across the Mojave like a damn lapdog. He never did tell me his name other than Courier but we saw some things you wouldn't believe. I know where the Brotherhood of Steel hides out. I've seen the inside of the Lucky 38 and prewar buildings that were never touched by bombs. Between the two of us we'd shot, chopped and blown up more fiends, bandits and rad animals than all you rangers combined.

We were always moving, always restless. I could see why he was good at his job before and after he became the Courier you all know. He was impossible to find unless he wanted to be found, never stayed in one spot too long, only ever slept with a guard posted or pretending to be dead. I knew he was good with that blade of his and a crack shot but I had no idea just how good. We'd become rich selling recovered weapons, armor and carcasses but he was never after the caps even back then. There was something about the open road he couldn't resist and I was happy to get swept along with him.

The Vaults were his favorite targets to explore. Maybe it was that Pip-Boy of his that steered him to them but he never passed up the chance to go into one. Too much knowledge there to not recover he'd say. It was no wonder him and the Brotherhood of Steel were such good buddies.

We found a vault just north of New Vegas one day. Untouched, unopened. Took him almost an hour to crack the door. I always thought that maybe just once we'd open a Vault to find happy people going about their business but this one was just like all the rest. Worn down, ragged, rusty, bodies or skeletons everywhere. Still couldn't figure out what he saw in 'em.

Deep down in the Vault we found what he called a 'cinema'. You ever see a camera before? This thing was like that only it showed so many pictures so fast it made it seem like you were really there watching it happen. I remember he was so excited. Called them 'movies' I guess because they moved just like real life.

We sat down there all day watching those movies. You wouldn't believe the things we saw down there and I don't have the eyes to draw them for you. We saw images of prewar cities, towns, prewar people who didn't have a care in the the world. No radiation, food, real food, everywhere and it wasn't killed that day. Had places you could just drive up and girls on these wheel shoes brought food to you. Working cars, flying machines called 'planes', working electricity no matter where you went. They had it all back then and look what they gave us. Pricks. I still dream about what this place must have looked like before the war.

Anyway we must have sat there for the rest of the day and well into the night. Hard to tell underground. Our favorite one was about this little girl who killed some other kid. Creepy little brat but for some reason we both liked it. Maybe it reminded us of ourselves. We kept quoting a certain part from it that the family was always saying to this crazy little girl. Kinda became a funny thing we used to do whenever we saw each other.

Needless to say he was real excited about the whole thing and wanted to come back to clear the place out. We needed a cart or two so we got a move on back to Vegas. I only wish I knew what was going to happen. Might have just stayed in the Vault forever. One of the best days of my life went right into the worst.

I'm not sure how it happened really. It was the middle of the day and between him and I nothing ever snuck up on us. I was pretty damn good with a gun but he was a sniper god. Carried this giant, heavy gun almost as long as he was. Actually, he made me carry it most of the time since he always had that damn gas tank of his on his back. One of us would see trouble and we'd fall to a knee. If it wasn't too serious he's spot for me and I'd take it out. If it could have been dangerous he took the rifle and started to pick them off.

Had we gotten the drop on them things might have turned out differently. But these things got the drop on us. Whole damn nest of Cazadores came down from the mountainside as we'd been following it along until Vegas was in sight. He'd cut one in half before I realized just how fucked we were. They came streaming down towards us so we went up into the rocks to get some kind of last stand position. You ever fire a .50 cal slug on the run? Damn thing almost knocked me down.

They chased us up to a little crag where we at least had higher ground. I remember the smell of burning fly and gasoline to this day. Either one makes me sick to my stomach. Every time I tagged one it went down but they're fast and get in your face. I had to beat a smaller one to death with the end of my rifle just to keep it away from me.

One of them gets the bright idea to screw survival and just straight up fly at us. I'm reloading when this thing just tackles me and I get taken off the end of the crag. I don't know what happened in the next few seconds but by the time I stop rolling head over ass my left arm is fucked, my knees are fucked and I've lost the .50 cal. The goddamn fly is still alive but it looked like I felt and with my only good limb I pull my six shooter to put a .44 round in its squishy head.

Two of the little ones came buzzing around the corner and I waste all five of my shots putting them down. When one of the adults followed behind them I knew I was dead. I didn't think, I knew for a fact I would be fly food in the next few seconds. I did the only thing I could and I threw my gun at its disgusting face. It slowed down for maybe half a second.

I heard him yell, "Cass!" and then the thing was on me. I had this combat armor on and it hit me in the stomach with its stinger. Went right through the armor and stabbed me just above the belly button. I could feel it pump poison in and it raked my face and arms with its gross fly legs. It would have hit me again with the poison but I caught a glimpse of the Courier jumping off the cliff above me like a goddamn psycho.

The impact almost broke my ribcage but he squashed it hard enough for make it stop attacking me. I heard chopping sounds and felt the heat from the blade as I closed my eyes. They hurt like hell and when I opened them again I had trouble focusing. He pulled the dead fly off of me and started doing his medical thing of checking my pulse. I told him I took one in the gut and he sounded worried. In all the time we'd been traveling together he'd never sounded worried. He just got to work with his first aid kit and what stimpaks we had.

"How bad is it?" I asked but he didn't answer. "Why won't my eyes focus?"

"You're going to be fine Cass." was all he said.

"Bullshit." I cursed. "You going to get the poison out by wishing? Going to suck it out?"

"More germs in my mouth probably." he said. "I'm going to get you help. I can't do anything for you like this."

"Leave me." I told him. "I can barely move, barely see and I'm hurting all over."

"The hell I am." he snarled at me. I heard him dropping weapons, taking off his armor and I forced my eyes open. Squinting with what little vision I had left one of the last things I saw was his face looking down on me when I asked, "What are you doing?"

"Jacobstown isn't far from here. They can help you."

"Those crazy nightkin would rather eat us."

He didn't answer but he started to pull my armor off. With a couple of broken knees I screamed and flailed at him but he stripped me anyway. When he lifted me onto his back I could feel that he was weaponless and needed both hands to keep me there. I screamed more, partly in pain and partly for him being an idiot.

"What in the fucking fuck are you doing!" I yelled in his ear.

"Relax and breath slow, Cass." he told me.

"You won't make it all the way there without a weapon! What if those things come back! Then we're both dead!"

"So be it." he said and I yelled at him again, I can't even remember what I said. We'd been going for a few minutes when I realized that he was limping.

"Why are you walking funny?" I asked.

"Leg's fractured. Put it in a splint. Should be okay in time."

"You...god...damn...moron! Put me down and go get help!"

"You won't make it that long." he said and I shut up right quick.

I remember passing out a few times and thought for sure I was just going to die on his back. He dragged me for four hours up into the mountains. I don't recall most of it to be honest. I know he had to stop a few times because he could barely stand but when I woke up for good I was in a hospital bed. I never saw anything ever again but I'm alive for what it's worth. The doctor said he had aggravated his injuries helping me but between the two of them they patched it up. The doc also said he refused to leave the room until I was awake and out of danger. He never told me why he didn't leave me there like a rational person but I guess it worked out in the end. If you can call this working out.

* * *

Scranton's cigar had burned down almost to the end and he put it out on his desk. "A man must carry a mighty weight on himself to go through the trouble of doing something like that. I only ever knew rangers with that kind of gumption."

"Courier's twice the man you rangers are and that isn't an insult." Cassidy said. "He'd rather die ten times over than give up an inch to anyone or anything. You don't have enough pain in this world to make him do what you want."

Scranton leaned back in his chair and thought over Cassidy's story. There were certain parts of it he found highly interesting and certain parts he felt like she had been leaving out. There was something he always thought was a peculiar coincidence that until now hadn't made much sense.

"After you were blinded, what did you both do?" he asked.

"He stayed about a month with me. I kept yelling at him and blaming him for my condition so I guess get got fed up with me. After a few more months I recovered and started learning to do things all over again. The doctor eventually got me a job near New Vegas fixing guns. It was something I had learned to do blindfolded. Guess the joke was on me now but it was a good living."

"Hmm. Where did you stay exactly?"

"The Ritzan in East Freeside."

"How much were you paid?"

"About a hundred caps a month, why?"

"Curiosity. How did you escape the destruction of New Vegas?"

"Oh, well, the doc sent for me. Wanted to have a look at my eyes, see if he could try to start fixing them. I was in Jacobstown when the blast went off."

"Uh-huh."

"That's where I stayed until you boys found me."

"Yeah. Did you know your doctor pulled a gun on me when I tried to tell him you were leaving with us?" Scranton asked.

"What? Why?"

"Never found out but I think I know now. What do you think a gun repairman made in caps back then?"

Cassidy looked confused as to why he was asking but she said, "I figured they made a little more than me since they could see and all but around the same. What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'd read a hundred reports on New Vegas and the surrounding area. The Ritzan was the nicest, priciest hotel outside of the Strip. What do you think the rent really was there?"

"It was...fifty caps a month."

"It was more like five hundred a month. Think about it. Did you ever have problems with neighbors? Were there ever raiders or junkies hanging around? Did it smell like piss and cheap toilet wine? Any fifty cap a month shit hole would."

"That can't be right..."

"I wonder where all those extra caps came from. It's also awfully convenient for you to be called away just before the place gets blown up, isn't it?"

"You don't think-"

"I know he did." Scranton said definitively. "The Courier paid your rent. He put you up in a nice place and got you a job so you wouldn't ever think it was charity. He had the doctor take you away from Vegas and probably paid him a mountain of caps to keep you safe in Jacobstown."

"That's impossible!" Cassidy cried.

"Improbable, more like it. But it does give me a bastard of a good idea."

"What?"


	5. Is It Torturing Time?

It was the strangest sensation and experience. He felt like he was floating and sinking at the same time. People were talking to him but he had the feeling that they didn't really exist the way he did. The lights in the room mixed in with the shadows and danced in front of his pupils. Whatever it was he was happy to feel good for a change.

* * *

"How's it going?"

"We got nothin'. Two hours we've been talking to this asshole and he's just spouting nonsense. Best we got out of him so far were recipes for some nasty crap called a Sierra Madre martini and Bloatfly sliders."

"Yeah, that's grim. Ranger ain't gonna like that."

"Well beating on this poor bastard doesn't seem to be working either. Ought to just get the firing squad ready."

* * *

The prisoner came to chained up on his wall as usual. His head was still woozy from the powerful drugs he had been given and his mouth was dry. They would not even allow him the freedom to take care of this himself but it was a wise move. No doubt Cassidy had explained that even in his debilitated condition he could likely pick his way out of the small jail in minutes.

Someone stirred nearby and the Word Bearer was amazed to slowly discover that he had company. He couldn't see but his keen hearing let him know there was definitely someone waking up in the cell next to him. "Whose there?" he asked.

"Is that you?" Cassidy said breathlessly.

"Cass?" he blinked under the hood. "What are you doing here?"

"Ugh...I told them that we used to travel together a lot. Turns out that may have been a bad idea."

"Didn't they know that already?"

"No. I told them I had many dealings with you but not that we used to be friends. I didn't think it was important but they did."

"I don't understand." he said. "What do they have to gain by locking you down here?"

"You wouldn't break." she spat. "I told them you wouldn't. So they're going to try something different."

"The drugs?"

"And me. They think if they torture me too that you'll cough up the location of those stupid bots."

"Probably more likely to cough up my spleen." the hooded man mused. "Have to hand it to them though. That might have worked in the past. Now though, well, it's hard to justify giving them what they want for someone who put the both of us in this situation in the first place."

A few minutes passed and he heard Cassidy slide to the wall to lean on it like he was. "Do you hate me?" she asked quietly. He laughed and the sound was as hollow as their cells.

"Hate? Of course not, Rose of Sharon Cassidy. I understand you and how your mind works, the way you feel even after all this time. It's not worth holding onto anger here at the end of things. I've brought the Divide all over the West just like I planned. How many can say they've achieved almost everything they've wanted in life? No, when the Courier finally goes he will be at peace."

She was quiet for a few long moments but then said, "I guess it's my own fault."

"Hmm?"

"I should have known how far they'd go. Torturing a blind woman. NCR would blow up an orphanage full of kids with diseases to get what they want. They're no better than Caesar that way."

"Old World tactics for Old World minds." the other prisoner lamented. "I'd expect no less from the Bear. They're cornered and dying and they know it."

"What makes you different?"

"Me personally? No different. Worse, actually." he shrugged even though she couldn't see him. "Ulysses and I, we're the worst kind of ghosts. We know our history and we use it as our weapon. Him, the war for the Mojave, House, the Divide – me, too – we're all born from Old World evils. That's why I'm the perfect messenger for its demise."

"You really believe in this crazy scheme of yours. You're convinced it will work." Cassidy said almost in amazement.

"Time will be the judge of me." he said. "The Bear and the Bull would build something that is only destined to crumble again. Old ideas. My path may lead to something greater. Who is really crazy here, Cass? Me for wanting to erase the sins of the past or you and the NCR and everyone else for clinging to them like tribals huddling around a fire in the cold night?"

* * *

They pumped the sounds of Cassidy's pain directly into his cell. She screamed, cried, begged, sobbed, cajoled and did a fair amount of cursing while the rangers did all of the things to her that they had done to him. After hours it thankfully ended and the basement door opened. Down the short flight of stairs hobbled an unsteady pair of legs with two sets of trooper boots close behind. She was leaning heavily on her right leg judging by her awkward steps and he could tell that they had almost disabled her left leg. It took her close to a full minute to get down the stairs and from there the NCR guards pushed her into the cell next to his.

Breathing hard and likely traumatized like never before Cassidy lay on the floor for the better part of half an hour. Eventually she dragged herself over to where the bars separated their cells and rested against them. He listened to her labored respiration return to normal and when she spoke her voice was a harsh croak. "Are you awake?" she asked.

"It would be hard to sleep with that racket."

"Listen to me and listen good. If you get out of here I want you to kill them." she hissed. "All of them except for that bastard Scranton. Him I want you to cut open and crucify out in the desert. Leave him for the crows."

"I'll keep that in mind." he answered.

Close to fifteen minutes passed before Cassidy gathered the strength to speak again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Currently I'm chained to a wall in six different places so I suppose in lieu of composing a symphony I can indulge you."

"Can you give me a break? I'm kind of having a shitty day." she said sullenly.

"One you brought on the both of us." he reminded her.

"I'm sorry, all right!" she cried. "Sorry for all of this! Sorry I ever met you a hundred times over!"

Her words almost echoed in the small space but the silence following them was deafening. A few minutes passed during which she had time to think about what she said before speaking again. "I didn't mean that."

"Shut up, Cass." he said and was irritable despite his resolution not to be. "I'd save my strength if I were you. They're going to be back before the day is up."

It was about four hours later when the troopers came down the steps again. Cassidy did her best to kick and resist but they took her all the same. He could only listen as they half dragged her up the stairs and began pumping her shrieks out from the speaker they had installed in his cell. Of all the tricks they had used up until now this was the most effective; even with her attitude and betrayal he could not easily endure hearing Cassidy suffer. With himself he could focus on keeping his body relaxed and disconnected from the incoming pain signals. With her he was acutely aware of the fact that he was directly responsible for either continuing or ending her agony. It was a good thing they did not know exactly how well their plan was working.

She could only handle a couple more hours before repeatedly and mercifully passing out. Fully carried back to her cell the troopers threw her to the floor and closed the gate. The hooded prisoner estimated that five or so hours passed before she woke up. Cassidy made no attempt to talk to him and without the constant screaming exhaustion dragged him into a fitful, restless sleep.

With no way of telling time he presumably woke up the next day. They were unlocking Cassidy's cell again and he wailed internally as they retrieved her. She did not have the strength to resist this time and the Word Bearer winced as he heard her limp feet smacking against each stone step. As with him they seemed to be running a program of torture that progressed from one kind to another and they were now moving over to electricity. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he clearly heard the sound of them sparking a battery to use on the blind woman.

Fortunately she could not take much of this brand of punishment and after only an hour or so of her guttural jaw clenching they stopped. Hobbling down the steps leaning heavily on her left leg for support she practically crawled back to her cell. At least thirty minutes passed before she did anything but whimper to herself. He had been so close to offering support to his former companion but whatever was happening to her she had brought it on herself. Besides, no amount of coercion – or clever subterfuge - would break him. If the Divide couldn't do it then a few rangers with sharp knives and a lack of compunction wouldn't either.

* * *

Scranton fiddled irritably with his reports while Kryzinch droned on and on about their lack of progress. The woman was considerably less hardy than their original guest and after a week of filling his cell with sounds of her distress they were no closer to their goal.

"We have to back off." Kryzinch was saying. "She can't deal with it as well as he can. She needs time to heal before you go at it again."

"Damn it! There has to be something he wants!" Scranton raged. "No one is invulnerable!"

"I don't think it will be her." the doctor said.

"Then she's outlived her usefulness. I guess we'll have to kill her after all."

* * *

The Word Bearer was sleeping when they came down from the upstairs area. Three sets of boots were coming and he quickly roused himself as best he could. He wondered if they were about to try something new that required more than the usual amount of muscle.

"Wake up." a gruff, older man said and the prisoner recognized it as the one in charge of the operation. Scranton, Cassidy had called him. The Courier would remember that name.

"Command's had enough of you two. Tomorrow you're going to be given one last chance to talk or we're going to hang you from a goddamn tree. Wise up and take the offer or we'll kill you and ship what's left back to Shady Sands for photos."

They stomped away and he had to be a little surprised that they were actually going to finish him. Had it been a month they'd been torturing the two of them? Month and a half? He couldn't be sure. It didn't change anything of course but he did regret Cassidy becoming involved in this.

"End of the line, Courier." she said and this was the first they'd spoken in days.

"About time." he grunted.

"Will you talk to me now?" she asked. When he didn't answer she softened her tone. "Consider it a last request."

Sighing, he relented. "All right Cass. Talk."

"My apartment, my job in Freeside...you set all of that up didn't you?"

"Yeah." he admitted.

"Why?"

"You would have never taken my help. Too stubborn, too hard headed. I did what I could, a pale imitation of what I wanted to do."

"What do you mean?"

"Even before the accident and certainly after I would have put you up in the Lucky 38. Forbid any robots from being on the same floor as you. Given you a life of peace and happiness that your tribal parents could have only dreamed of for you. You would have lived like the queen of New Vegas but you yelled at me to leave you alone."

"I'm sorry. I was wrong about this whole thing." she said glumly. "I thought I would be glad to see you suffer. I wanted to take everything from you the way you took everything from me. That's not exactly how it's happened."

"Revenge is never a straight line, Cass. I should know. It wasn't for me and it wasn't for Ulysses either. You get so focused on your hate that you lose sight of everything else. Besides, you couldn't take everything I have because I have nothing in the first place. NCR doesn't seem to get that."

"I read your book, you know." Cassidy revealed. "You never mentioned me. Or anyone else you traveled with."

"I didn't?" the Word Bearer mulled over. "How strange."

"You said that it was your 'personal history' and you alone carried it. That there was no need to tell anyone else."

"Hmm. Yes. More of the angry dead. The world does not need to know of my failures to them...of my shame." he said thoughtfully.

"Shame?"

"You're the only one left, Cass. Everyone I'd ever called a friend is gone. Other than these yahoos you're one of the few people left alive who even knows what I look like."

"Really..." she breathed.

"I had such great plans for you. That day and night we spent in the Vault making love and watching movies would have been the start of something special. I would have married you for what it's worth. But it wasn't meant to be. I'm destined to bring death and ruin to everyone close to me. I should have known it back then but I didn't until much later."

"I...I don't know what to say." Cassidy murmured. "I guess it was hard to think about seeing as the Cazadores happened only a few hours later. And I was such a bitch to you. I'm sorry...Courier..."

"I can't take it any more." he said resolutely. "Those machines won't save the NCR but maybe they can save you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to tell them where the Securitrons are located in exchange for your freedom."

"What! You can't! You don't even know if they'll keep their end of the bargain!" she exclaimed.

"It doesn't matter. I'm just a man in a cell that's going to die tomorrow. If I give them what they want maybe I can get it just right to where I can get something out of it. Maybe they'll kill you anyway. Maybe they won't. At least when I go I'll know I tried." he explained.

"And if they don't agree?"

"They have to. I would have...we could have been together all these long years, Cass." he said sadly from under his hood. "If only you'd let me. That's why I took care of you the best way I knew how. I won't have all of that be for nothing."

"But..."

"They can kill me and have the damn machines, Divide take them for it. But I won't let you die now. Not after everything that's happened."

"This is all wrong." Cassidy despaired. "You'd give up everything you've done for me?"

"My death won't stop my work." he promised. "Did you hear about the destruction of New Kirkland a few months ago?"

"Of course. You blew up a town and the oil rigs around the area. They burned for weeks."

"Wasn't me." he informed her. "I was here scouting Sunny Bluff."

"What? Who did it then?" she asked quizzically.

"The Heralds of Ulysses, I imagine." he guessed. "They even marked the town just like I would have. Thorough."

"That can't be..." she reasoned.

"It is. Even with me dead they will continue what I do. There will always be a Courier lurking in the shadows until he is no longer needed. So I won't be missed when I'm executed tomorrow."

Cassidy grew quiet for a few minutes as she seemed collected her thoughts. He could tell that this was a crucial moment even from under the hood. "I can't believe you would break now after everything they've thrown at you." she said.

"I'm not breaking. I'm dying on my own terms." he corrected.

"But you can't! You can't give in!" she exclaimed. "You never give up!"

"The NCR is good at what they do. Guess I have a weakness after all."

Cassidy was quiet again a few minutes before she asked, "What would you do if you were free?"

"What does that matter now?"

"Just answer me." she insisted.

"If I was free right this moment...I'd kill everyone on this base except for the head ranger who I'd crucify and leave for dead. Then I'd go back to Sunny Bluff and detonate the charges I've buried there. Then I'd move on to the next target."

"And me?"

"You? I don't know. What would you want me to do with you?" he asked.

"You could shoot me." she said absently.

"Don't be ridiculous. Not now, not ever. I'm responsible for your condition. I'm responsible for a lot of things. History might be my weapon but it's a sword with no handle. I cut myself every time I use it. For what it's worth Cass, I'm sorry. For what happened to you, for Vegas, for everything I've ever done and everything I have to do still. But I won't stop. One day something greater than the Old World will be born. When that day comes I'll gladly lay my sword down."

Cassidy sighed deeply. "You know you're nuts?"

"Hah."

"Maybe it's the last week of talking but I believe you. I believe that you believe in what you're doing. It makes sense in a weird way."

"Guess it doesn't matter now." he said forlornly.

"Yes it does." she said quietly. "I...haven't been getting tortured like you think I have. We've been faking it so you'd tell them what they wanted."

"I know," the Word Bearer said, "but thanks for admitting it."


	6. Skulker In The Dark

It seemed to take the other wastelander forever to come to grips with what he just said. Finally she sputtered, "You knew! But how!"

"The other day you came down the steps limping on your left leg. The next day you were limping on your right leg and leaning heavy on your left. If it was enough to hobble you they would have had to do something excessive. That kind of injury doesn't just heal overnight. Not unless you've got a monoctye cell breeder implant installed in your body."

"You've been playing me this whole time..." she realized.

"No, not the whole time. Just since I put two and two together. How would the NCR best attack knowing that a brute force assault wouldn't work? Throwing you in here would have fooled a clever or a paranoid man but not a clever and paranoid man."

"But if you knew I was lying then why didn't you tell me something else? Why didn't you tell me what I wanted to hear, like, I don't know, how you'd never kill again if you were free?"

"Those would be lies, Cass. Everything I told you was true even if you were not being as honest with me." he explained.

"So...what you said about you and I..."

"All true." he confirmed. "I would have made you mine eventually even if you resisted at first. It was not just guilt that made me carry you up that mountain. Even after the way you acted I still would have taken you in but you wouldn't have it. So I made arrangements that you might never face hardship again or go hungry. Only then you went to the NCR and out of the safe haven I'd carefully arranged for you."

Cassidy almost laughed at the situation. "And I spent the last two years chasing you because I thought you took everything I had away from me. Turns out everything I had you gave me in the first place."

The Word Bearer smiled under his hood. "Personal sorrow goes hand in hand with my success. I've learned to accept it."

"I can't believe this. It's all...fucked isn't it?" Cassidy said in disbelief. "What does that make me? What do I do now? I got you into this mess for all the wrong reasons."

"Set me free, Cass." he urged. "Let me bring the Divide to the rest of NCR. Release the Courier and I'll rain down warheads until humanity figures out how to change."

"You'd really do it, too." she said almost to herself.

"I'd crack this world in half if it meant achieving my goals. A nuclear winter hasn't taught people the lessons of history hard enough. Maybe the Courier can."

"I let you go and I'm responsible for all the people you kill." she said stubbornly.

"No, I am responsible for every step I take. Believe me, no one knows this better than me. But the alternative is far worse. Imagine a day when people have forgotten the Great War. The horrors of the Old World, no longer even a memory. We would be back to square one. And what have I always said about history?"

"'No one escapes history's judgment.'" she quoted from his book. "'It will guide you if you let it.'"

"The fate of the West is in your hands, Rose of Sharon Cassidy. Release me and the Divide will save it from itself. Let me perish here and the wars of Bear and Bull will stall any progress for decades to come while my followers try to imitate me."

Minutes ticked away as Cassidy considered what he said. The Word Bearer was so close to winning her over but the next few moments would be the most crucial. Finally she said, "I...will you write about me? About the people that followed you, helped you? Will you add it to your Word?"

In all his calculations and machinations he never expected this kind of request. He relived the horrors that befell his traveling companions regularly and was actually responsible for killing one of them himself. "That...is asking a lot more than you know." he said. "I suppose it would not make people hate me any more than they do now." he mused.

"All right. If I should live to do it I will add a chapter of personal history to future copies of the Word. You have my promise, Rose of Sharon Cassidy."

Opening her cell Cassidy moved quite unhindered to his cell's door. A few moments passed and the prisoner heard the metal clicking of a locking being fiddled with. "Sounds like a prewar tumbler. Remember to torque as you lift the pins." he suggested.

"I know what I'm doing." she snapped. After an agonizing minute which felt like an hour she popped the lock to the gate open. The Word Bearer's heart began to beat quicker as he hoped the soldiers did not hear the sound that might get the both of them killed. Creeping into his cell she felt around for his wrists and by feel alone pulled out of metal pins that kept the shackles in place. He slipped one hand out and it was the first time since arriving that his limb was free.

Pulling off the hood the wasteland myth blinked in the sunlight coming in from the basement's high windows. When his vision returned to normal he estimated that there was only a few hours of daylight left and he decided that it would be best to attack in the night. Quickly using his free hand to undo the other shackle he then set to work unlocking his whole body. Careful not to overly disturb the chains he left them where they were in the off chance that the troopers would return before dark.

Cassidy was crouched down with him and seemed to be waiting for something. She could not see him but he realized that she was tensed for a blow or possibly waiting to be killed. She truly did not know even after all this time that he would never do anything to harm her on purpose.

"What would you give me for a basket of kisses?" he asked his old friend in a low voice.

"Basket of kisses? How about a basket of hugs." she said with a wistful, half-hearted smirk. With grimy arms covered in his own dried blood the former courier hugged her there in his cell. Letting go reluctantly he kissed the blind woman on the forehead.

"Back to your cell. We have to pretend to be captive for a few more hours."

Dutifully returning to her cell as quietly as possible Cassidy closed her door and laid back down on the floor. Putting the now ineffective shackles over his left wrist the Word Bearer put the hood back on and slid his right hand back into its place. He still had a number of the metal pins hidden under his leg and suddenly had a good idea. They were only four inches long but he started scraping them against the cold concrete floor of his cell to sharpen them.

"How many topside?" he asked.

"Ten, including the rangers. There's three of them and none of them are going to go down easy."

"Rangers never do. What's the layout?"

"Upstairs is the main torture room you were brought into originally. To the right of the basement door are the stairs to the second floor and the lab where the doctor sleeps. They always have two troopers right at the top of the stairs guarding you with two more sleeping on the top level. The building directly across from this one is where the rangers stay but they float around a lot. There's usually a guard on that roof too keeping lookout."

"Any weaker ones? Easy targets?"

"They're all veterans. Whoever set up the task force has a real hate on for you and this isn't the only team sent to track you down. NCR has a 50,000 cap bounty on your head if you didn't know."

"I did, actually." he said. "All right, here's what we're going to do..."

* * *

It was well past midnight when the two troopers in the prison building finished yet another game of Caravan. Without the card game to distract them there was a good chance they would have long since gone crazy out in the middle of nowhere with no hope of visiting civilization.

"Damn. Six games to one. I gotta get my mojo back." the first said.

"Like you had any to begin with." the repeat victor joked.

"Fuck you. I'm going to go take a piss."

Standing and stretching his legs the trooper headed outside and took a short walk to the far side of the building they used as storage. Unzipping his khakis he relieved himself against the wall with a pleasurable sigh. Looking up at the clear night sky he wondered if he would ever make it back to Shady Sands. Perhaps with this long mission almost over he would be up for a cush assignment or maybe a promotion. It wasn't every day that you were part of the team that brought down the Courier.

Thinking of a new strategy for the card game he entered the building and said, "All right Davies, if you beat me this time-"

Halting when he saw that the other trooper wasn't in the room the NCR soldier saw that the door to the second floor had been left slightly ajar. "Davies, you cocksucker..." he cursed. The other man had clearly slipped up to the barracks for a little extra sleep at his partner's expense. Walking purposefully towards the rear of the building the trooper was already imagining how he'd yank Davies out of bed when an old familiar smell hit his nostrils. It was the stench of blood but not the old stains on the floor. This was fresh, coppery, in the air and recent. Looking down he saw fresh blood spatter sprayed onto the cards on the floor with a trail of droplets leading to the open door.

Shock hit his system and the trooper reached for his gun but a steel cable hand closed around his wrist. Someone jammed a handful of sharp metal into his neck and the trooper tried to cry out. It came out as little more than a gurgle and his legs turned to jelly. Someone kicked his feet out from under him and he blacked out a few moments later.

* * *

Dragging the body of the second trooper down into the basement next to the first the newly free prisoner carefully pulled the corpse down the steps as quietly as possible. Getting to the bottom he quickly stripped the armor off the dead NCR soldier and started putting it on. It was something he had done literally hundreds of times out in the Mojave and in barely a minute he was adjusting the chest plate on himself.

"Guess the pins did their job." Cassidy said from her cell.

"Never underestimate the lethality of a few bits of sharpened anything in the right hands." he said. Cocking an extra 9mm he handed it to Cassidy and said, "No matter what happens, you stay down here. If I don't make it you can hide the gun and tell them I locked you in here."

"You better come back alive after all this shit." she warned him as he skipped up the steps.

Slinging the soldier's rifle over his shoulder he wrapped his face in the cloth meant to keep out the desert wind. Taking out trooper's combat knife and holding it in his right hand he crept towards the chem lab. It was not his weapon of choice, the deadly shishkebob, but any blade in his hand became a murderous weapon.

Cracking open the door to the lab the escapee spied the doctor still asleep on his cot. Laying the rifle down he stole into the darkened room like a creeping phantom. The doctor was sleeping face down and gently the Mojave legend climbed onto the bed to straddle his back. His prey began to wake and the Word Bearer yanked the target's head up by the hair. Slipping the knife under the groggy man's throat he ripped it savagely across the jugular and smashed his face back down onto the bed.

Bucking and kicking wildly the doctor faded in seconds while making muffled sounds into the pillow. His assailant looked around the room for supplies and spotted a few stimpaks and jet inhalers. He waited until the good doctor was still before getting up to retrieve them. Never one to use chems unless it was absolutely necessary he slipped the meds into his vest pockets and listened for any other activity.

Deciding to leave the rifle behind he slipped upstairs with the knife still slick from its previous victim. It was dark past the florescent glow of the torture room and he waited in the stairwell for his eyes to adjust before moving into the unlit upper floor. Slithering to the top of the stairs he found a hallway leading left and right with doors on each end. There was snoring coming from the right and he could not hear anything from the left so he padded towards the sound.

Opening the door just slightly he could see a large room with multiple bunk beds. Squeezing into the barrack he shut the door behind him and was delighted to find two troopers sleeping soundly on the same double bunk. Carefully sneaking up to the first one on the bottom bunk the wasteland assassin put a knee on his chest and a hand over his mouth as he jammed the knife deep into the soldier's sternum.

Something resembling a scream was muffled by his hand as the Word Bearer yanked the blade out to allow blood to fountain out of the wound. Keeping the stream from making too much noise with his knife holding hand he pressed down with his full weight as the trooper struggled in vain.

The rocking of the bed caused the soldier above to stir and their attacker froze in split second panic. He almost went for his noisy sidearm but let the situation play out first. "Johnson?" the trooper above asked. "You're not doing what I think you're doing are you?"

His current victim was fading and thinking quickly the former courier made grunts at regular intervals as the rocking tapered down. "Oh come on man, that's a bunk we all share." the trooper complained as the rhythmic rocking stopped.

"I'm talking to Scranton about this, man." the soldier said as the very man he was supposed to be guarding slid off of the messy remains of his victim below. As the Word Bearer stood the second trooper turned to him in anger.

"What did – shit!" he got out before slick, glistening hands dragged him torso-first off the bunk. Throwing the man's full weight down his head made a sickening crack as his arms managed to only break some of the fall. Still moving the soldier was in no condition to defend himself when the ruthless Courier crushed down on his wind pipe with a hard shin. Weakly trying to free himself the NCR veteran could do nothing as his former captive crushed the life out of him.

Looking around the room and listening for activity the Word Bearer breathed a tiny sigh of relief. He much preferred the faster and more efficient suppressed .22 pistol which made all the racket of a BB gun for this kind of operation. It was harrowing when one had to make do with low tech options but at least he hadn't alerted the whole base just yet.

Five down, five to go. The last three would be the hardest of all and might as well have been ten men apiece. Rangers put up even more a fight than a Brotherhood paladin in full power armor and were tactically brilliant to a man. It was not going to be easy killing even one of them but he was too close to freedom to stop now. Divide take the NCR for dogging him after all these years but he had a score to settle with these men. It might have been wiser to simply flee but he had promises to keep. One to himself to never give in, one to Cassidy to bring the Divide to Shady Sands and one to the rangers to put their heads on pikes. He would fulfill these promises or he would die trying.


	7. Stars Of The Midnight Range

Rising up from the neck of the latest trooper to meet his maker the Word Bearer was flush with success. He had a hard fight ahead of him but he was on a roll. Retrieving the knife he wiped it clean on the bed sheets and held it in his palm against the underside of his wrist. Letting himself out of the room he froze when he saw a third trooper in briefs and a t shirt standing in the threshold of the door across the hall from him. Lowering his head and getting a slightly stronger grip on the knife he let the third trooper come storming towards him.

"Davies? You fuckin' sleeping on the job again? I swear if you're supposed to be downstairs-" the trooper said angrily as he approached. When he was in striking range the imposter's hand flicked up as fast as a radscorpion's tail at the trooper's throat. Unbelievably the trooper's head jerked out of the way and he twisted the Word Bearer's hand in the same motion. Slapping the blade at the top he forced it loose and it clattered to the floor as both opponents looked at each other with new-found understanding. Simultaneously they re-evaluated the situation as clearly it was not what either of them signed up for.

"Shit. Ranger." the escaped prisoner said.

"Courier. Fuck." the NCR's elite cursed.

The wastelander went for his gun but the ranger threw himself forward and tackled him into the door he had just come out of. They both spilled into the barracks room and the Courier fought to get a hand on the 9mm. The ranger locked his right arm down to prevent the Word Bearer from drawing his pistol out of the holster and they both strained to gain the upper hand.

"Fuck!" the ranger exclaimed when he saw his dead allies.

"You're...alone!" the former courier got out as he tried to break the ranger's grip. Successfully getting the gun free of the holster he still could not effectively aim it upward at his opponent. Abandoning his hold the ranger went after the gun and they fought over it directly until the NCR commando twisted it away from the both of them and sent it skidding towards the body on the floor. Taking the momentary opening the escapee threw a punch off his back that cracked the ranger's jaw. Taking it like a light slap the soldier dropped an elbow on the scarred face below him.

The skull jarring impact reminded him that he was in a poor position and the Mojave walker worked his legs under the ranger's torso. He warded off incoming blows and shoved the other man up and backwards into the hallway. Scrambling to his feet just a half second faster he lunged forward and hit the ranger shoulder-first. Dumping the other man onto his back he quickly moved to isolate the ranger's right hand just before he was given a nasty surprise. Attempting to swing his leg over to pin his opponent's left arm he suddenly felt the steel bite of a knife sink deep into his thigh. Jerking back in pain and confusion he saw his own combat knife protruding from his leg just before the ranger rolled him to the side.

Coming up on top again the commando landed one, two hard shots that made the former courier's head bounce off the wooden floor. Tying up the ranger's arms with his own the escapee shook his head to let it clear as the other man tried to get free and press his advantage. Something hard and metal was digging into the wastelander's chest around the sternum and he realized he had another weapon handy. Letting go of the arms he was holding onto the Word Bearer raked the ranger's face with his nails and reached into his chest pocket with the other.

Oblivious to the attack the ranger took the chance to use both his hands to pin down the escapee's left arm. A few moves away from a broken arm he frantically fumbled at his vest pocket until his fingers closed around the end of a Stimpak. The ranger began to crank his arm back behind his shoulder when the wasteland renegade stabbed the needle into the NCR elite's eye socket.

Blood and eye juice sprayed his face as the ranger cried out in pain. Reaching up with his free hand to grip the soldier's neck the Courier sat up just slightly and slammed the end of the Stimpak down onto his down head. It sank another inch into the ranger's socket and freeing his arm from the flopping limbs of the veteran soldier the escapee used both hands to forcibly ram the ranger's head to his own. Scalp and forehead bleeding from the cuts the metal end of the Stimpak made it only took a flat palm strike to drive the needle almost to the hilt into the ranger's skull.

Collapsing on top of him the body jerked in erratic undeath gruesomely. Pushing the corpse off of him the former courier sucked in great gobs of air. He was bleeding in at least a half dozen places, his leg was burning from the large knife sticking out of it and his face hurt all over but at least he was alive. Breathing in deep he exhaled hard to painfully expel blood and mucous out of his nasal cavity. It didn't quite happen like it should have and he realized his nose was broken.

Feeling along the bridge of his nose he located the break. Forming a triangle with his fingers he set them at the top of his nose and took in a deep breath. Exhaling through his mouth he dragged his fingers down and felt the snap as he set the nose back in place. The pain only spiked for a moment and throbbed along with the rest of his injured body after a couple minutes. It wasn't perfect but the monocyte breeder would take care of the rest and he had bigger concerns at the moment.

Scooting himself to the wall to lean against it he pulled out the remaining Stimpak and set it down by his left leg. Taking in another deep breath he exhaled and felt the pain of being stabbed again as he slid the knife free of his muscle tissue. Blood rushed out and he quickly jammed the nearby Stimpak into the wound and depressed the plunger. The old familiar sting of the healing fluid got to work immediately to accelerate the natural repair process. Sitting there a few minutes while his leg tingled he took a well earned break.

The bleeding from his scalp and forehead had already stopped and his face was busy unbruising itself. Suddenly the fifty thousand plus caps he'd spent on implants for himself seemed like a cheap bargain. Resting as long as he dared he climbed to his feet and the pain in his leg has subsided from agony to a dull ache. Stumbling over the bodies to get his 9mm and wiping the combat knife off on the dead ranger he was ready to move forward but he was in no hurry. He'd only faced one ranger and it had taken everything he had to overcome him. Hopefully he could isolate the last two; if they worked in tandem they would be much, much harder to kill.

Heading back downstairs he pushed open the door and walked into two troopers and a ranger standing in the torture room with weapons drawn. The service rifle he'd left was on the floor by his feet but reaching for it probably would cost him his life. There was no doubt that blood was all over his armor and his disguise was elementary at best. Quick thinking had saved his life before and he needed just a few seconds worth of a distraction. He wasn't sure if they would go for it but he took the chance anyway.

"He's right behind you!" he cried and pointed at the front door. They actually turned to look as he snatched up the rifle as fast as he'd ever moved. When they turned back the muzzle of his gun was coming up to angle at them and he unloaded on the NCR. The rifle rattled like a mad drummer and from that range the 5.56mm rounds would have no trouble shredding steel. The NCR scattered and tried to take cover in the empty room but only the ranger dove out of the building alive. The troopers took direct hits in the torso and head from the spray and tumbled to inglorious deaths as the rifle clicked empty.

From outside a black hand stuck a monster revolver into the building and the Word Bearer dove right towards the chem labs as the ranger fired his Sequoia into the room. Bullets that would tear a limb off ripped into the walls as the former courier landed hard on the concrete floor and crawled the rest of the way into the chem room. Tossing the rifle to the side he pulled out the 9mm and put his back against the wall by the threshold of the door. Sliding down it he listened tensely for any sound to come from nearby. He could not make out the ranger's movements and he mentally cursed them for being too good at what they did.

Risking a look around the corner he came almost face to face with the red glow of the ranger's mask and they fired weapons at the same time. Deafened by the proximity of the gunshots he felt rather than heard the wall by his ear explode and watched his own shot go wide into the ceiling. His enemy gripped his wrist and the 9mm's next shots went harmlessly off the wrong direction. Pushing the barrel of the Sequoia away from him the Word Bearer was dismayed when the ranger simply let it go. The large revolver was taken by gravity as the black clad commando struck a wide open target. The gloved fist landed flush on the Courier's stubbly chin and turned his head to the side.

Seeing stars the escapee's legs buckled ever so slightly and the ranger followed up with a solid knee to the stomach. He fell back onto the unforgiving metal bed frame with a painful thump but his hand was still in the air where the ranger held onto it. Thoroughly dazed and with pain lancing through his back, chest and jaw the Mojave scourge saw the ranger trying to pry the 9mm from his fingers. Realizing that this was not optimum for his immediate future he responded by kicking his own hand from his leaning back position. The pistol flew away from them and searching for any advantage he reached over to grip the still hot barrel of the empty rifle that lay nearby. Sitting up he swung it overhead at the ranger with one hand as hard as he could. The wood butt connected with the commando's face and smashed the riot mask he wore to pieces.

Staggering back the ranger was stunned long enough for the Word Bearer to roll up to a kneel and deliver another baseball-bat like swing to the ranger's legs . The black armored combatant was knocked down to one hand and his opponent fully stood to deliver a merciless swing down on the back of riot geared soldier's head.

Panting in exertion the wastelander retrieved the 9mm from across the room and aimed it down at the unmoving ranger. To his utter shock and amazement he saw the entry wounds of three bullets in the ranger's back. He had been shot in the initial barrage that had killed the other two troopers with him but still the ranger had come far too close to winning anyway. If anyone knew just how tough the NCR's finest were it was the Word Bearer but this was simply ridiculous. The man must have been in grievous pain simply moving, let along fighting.

Stripping the ranger for ammo and reloading the fine Sequoia he sidled up to the front door of the building. He couldn't see much outside with the florescent lights ruining his night vision. Taking a gamble he called out, "Hey Scranton, you out there?"

The unmistakable report of a massive anti-material rifle rang out and blasted a hole in the wall only a foot from where he stood. Darting back as Scranton put another massive slug through the wall he waited for the dust to settle and the sound of the shots to leave his ears. Staying far enough from that door that one would need to fire straight on to hit him the sharp eyed wastelander studied the angle of the attacks. From the downward trajectory of the bullets he concluded that Scranton was firing from the roof of the building directly across from him. Spotting the light switch and confident the angle was too extreme he walked over and flicked off the torture room's lights. The seconds ticked by while the total darkness grudgingly gave way to basic shapes and outlines. As his eyes he could see faint starlight ever so gently illuminating the outside area.

He did not hear any movement and assumed that Scranton was keeping his very advantageous position across the way. Feeling his way back to the stairwell the Courier headed upstairs. He needed something to fight back against the massive gun other than his pistols and searched the barracks room to find nothing but bodies and bedding. Doubling back he went into the dead ranger's room and felt around for a light switch. Not wanting to give away his position he nevertheless had to see and turned it on. It seemed to be an average dorm-like room which didn't help his unenviable situation much. Rummaging through the ranger's dresser he threw neatly folded clothes up in the air in search of something, anything he could use.

Opening the bottom draw he smiled for the first time in months. Pay dirt waited there for him in the form of the ranger's personal ammo stash. Plucking three of the loveliest fragmentation grenades he'd ever seen from the drawer he stuffed them in the handy NCR pouches on his chest. Hitting the lights and giving his eyes time to readjust he carefully crept downstairs. Thinking on how he was going to get Scranton to fire and waste a critical second of reload time he had an idea.

Turning into the chem lab he hoisted the doctor's dead body up onto his shoulder and carefully carried it to the building's door. Setting the body roughly near its feet he pushed it towards the outside. A huge muzzle flash and miniature sonic boom erupted from the roof across from him as a giant .50 slug tagged the body mid-fall. Pulling the pin on a grenade the Word Bearer bolted out of the door and expertly hurled the explosive in an arc that should have hit the top of the roof where Scranton was.

He was in full sprint when there was a gut-punching blast that lit up the base for a second and rattled Scranton's HQ. Skidding just under the threshold of the building the former courier sought refuge there for a moment while his ears screamed at him. He could not see well into the command building but he could make out a number of desks filling up the ground floor as opposed to the nearly empty torture room. Unfortunately as his hearing returned he could still percieve Scranton moving a floor or two above him.

"Hey Scranton, frag out!" the wasteland assassin called out of the threshold without exposing himself.

"Fuck you, you evil piece of shit!" the ranger yelled down.

"You could have walked away, Ranger. Now you're the only one left. Give yourself up and I'll kill you quickly instead of taking my time." he projected his voice out.

"We're fighting for a better future for everyone! We'll never give up!"

"No matter how many men it costs you?"

"I'd give up a platoon to get those robots!"

The Word Bearer started giggling, then guffawing, then cackling hysterically as he leaned against the threshold of the door for support. Maybe it was the captivity and release but he sat there laughing until tears were streaming down his dirty face and chest started to hurt.

"The fuck are you laughing at, creep?"

Wiping the tears from his eyes on his khaki sleeve the Courier chuckled to himself. "You want to know where the Securitrons are? I'll tell you!" he called out. "You're not going to last the night anyway!"

"Come on out and say it to my face then!" Scranton suggested.

"You know why you were never able to find my robots? You were looking in the wrong places! They're all over New Vegas, in little bits of scrap metal!"

"Bullshit!"

"How do you think I was able to level the Strip? And the Dam? Those Securitrons carried enough C-4 to blast the Mojave into orbit!"

"You're lying!"

"Think about it Ranger! All I talk about is getting rid of the Old World! Why in Ulysses' name would I kept a robot army around? I didn't need it anymore! It's gone! There's no metal army waiting to save the NCR!"

"You're a dead man, Courier!" the ranger said furiously.

"I thought you should know the truth before you died." the Word Bearer said as he pulled the primary safety pin from another grenade. "My people are coming for Shady Sands. You can't stop it any more than you can stop the Legion's war hounds. Either way, your people won't last. And you yourself..."

Stepping out from the threshold he yelled, "...Divide take you!" and threw the grenade hook style so that it would land on the roof or near the roof. Scurrying back inside he plugged his ears as the explosion wracked the building again. Standing stock still he waited for some sign of movement or sound from above. Minutes passed and there was nothing but silence and the sounds of the desert coming in. He could hope that Scranton was dead but nothing short of finding his body and putting a few extra rounds in it would do. He would have to head up and either finish the job or pull what was left of the ranger outside and light it on fire just for good measure.

The Word Bearer took a breath and started feeling his way along into the darkness.


	8. Man To Man

Crawling forward the wasteland outlaw moved between the desks with the stealth of a nightstalker. He kept his ears open for any sounds of the ranger moving overhead but had heard nothing for several minutes. The low-light vision of the second ranger's helmet would have been extremely useful in leveling the playing field but he had smashed it in the heat of the moment. A regrettable oversight but hopefully not one that would mean the difference against Scranton.

As he approached the back of the room it was simply too dark to see and he was forced to go by feel. Hoping the building was built similarly to the one he was locked up in he felt first for the wall and then went left to what should have been the stairwell. His probing fingers ran into something he did not expect when they bumped into a taut piece of string. Having both engaged and worked with NCR rangers many times he knew well their love of traps. Halting every bit of motion in his body he used the lightest touch he could to move along the string's line to the wall.

Following the line he found the bomb it was hooked to that would blow him to tiny Courier pieces if he tripped it. Extremely careful not to disturb the tight wire he caressed the device to see if it was something he could safely disarm in the dark. Probing it as gingerly as he could the Word Bearer decided not to risk it. It was too complicated to attempt disarming without light and that would give his position away right then if Scranton was still alive. Mentally counting the steps from the tripwire he backed up until he touched the nearest desk to the stairwell.

Getting behind the desk he waited again for any sign of activity from above. It was deathly quiet and perhaps he had managed to kill the ranger with the second grenade after all. Instinct and paranoia told him that one grenade would not stop such a worthy adversary so he was left to assume that Scranton was very much alive. Thinking for a few minutes he planned what to do and what he would do in the ranger's shoes. Coming up with a strategy he searched for a rolling chair and found one a couple of desks back from the first. Lining up the chair with the tripwire he threw it forward and hurried to huddle under the scant protection of the desk.

The blast hit him with the force of an earthquake and was amplified by the enclosed space. Debris exploded out and showered the area with shrapnel and falling bits of building but he was still alive. Ears ringing the Vegas boogeyman laid down flat and waited many minutes for his hearing to return to normal. Listening closely when he could actually make out sounds that weren't a dull buzz in his eardrums he waited for the ranger to make his move. At least half an hour went by as the Word Bearer passed the time by day dreaming about killing Super Mutants with his beloved shishkebob. He had lost the original years ago during the Cazadore attack but the schematics for how to make a new one never left his head.

The sound of movement from upstairs was so faint that he almost didn't hear it at first. With his implant-heightened perception he could just make out the extremely light and slow sounds that confirmed the ranger's survival. Careful not to give himself away either he crawled silently back to the stairwell and felt around for the damage. The blast had taken entire chunks of wall out but the steps remained intact. Feeling his way up each step in case there were more bombs he came to where the stairs turned left and went the other direction up to the second floor. Drawing his knife he waited there at the corner for more sounds in total darkness.

Minutes ticked away and he could make out no more of Scranton's movements. Swapping out his knife for the Sequoia he fairly slithered up the steps inch by inch. Making it to the second floor in one piece he could see somewhat well on this floor. The two grenades had opened up holes in the roof that was letting the faint starlight into the floor. Moving forward on his stomach he could see that like the ground floor this one too was filled with desks and gave the ranger a dozen and one places to hide.

Inching his way forward into the room he kept quiet and stuck to each desk as he passed them. He peered around the corner of each one pistol first in case there was a ranger waiting behind it but did not see any dark outlines so far. It took the better part of ten minutes to work towards the other side of the room but then he saw the ranger. Not directly but as he passed the next row of desks he saw the long barrel of the giant anti-material rifle pointing at the door just barely distinguishable from the gloom. Had he come up the stairwell gun blazing he would have taken a slug to the chest almost assuredly.

Moving forward he slowly stuck his head around the corner to get a good look at the ranger. Only about fifteen feet or so away it would not make much of a difference now if they started shooting but if he could avoid giving Scranton time to react it would likely be better for his immediate future. Rangers were unpredictable at best and he'd had enough close calls for one day. Making out his adversary's body was difficult in the low light but he could clearly see the unmistakable outline of the ranger's signature helmet.

Creeping back he instead turned down the row where the ranger's barrel was sticking out into. It took several more minutes to move that close without making a sound but he didn't rush it. Coming up to the front of the desk just under the ranger's vision he now clearly saw the barrel of the rifle and knew that it would be no help when he struck. Sliding his killer knife out of the sheathe a fraction of a inch at a time he got his feet under him and readied them to act. When the knife was fully free he jumped forward towards where the ranger was crouched down, charged in and stabbed just below the helmet where his neck should have been.

Only he would have if the ranger had been there. Instead he stabbed only an empty, propped-up set of armor that had been put there to lure him in. The momentum of the attack was too much without resistance and he tumbled into the dummy armor to land in a confused heap. From the corner of the room behind him Scranton began firing and lit up the floor with his muzzle flashes. The former courier took two of the random shots in the back as he rolled over to return fire with the Sequoia. Shooting twice he saw nothing as Scranton dove back out of view.

Unaware of how many shots the ranger fired and in a monstrous amount of pain from the gun shot wounds he forced himself up and charged towards the ranger. The NCR elite would not have been expecting such a brash move and he popped up too late to stop the wasteland marauder. Both Sequoias fired and missed as Word Bearer crashed into ranger. Rolling onto the floor he fired the revolver, stabbed at, kneed and fought the ranger sight unseen to unknown effectiveness. Smelling blood the Courier could not be sure whose it was but his back screamed in agony with each move he made.

Untangling himself from the scuffle the ranger lunged away and his opponent was too slow to follow. Running back across the room Scranton slid into the pile of armor and came up with the massive rifle. Ducking down as he realized what was going on the Word Bearer dodged a slug that put a fist sized hole in the wall behind him. Though he knew right where Scranton was now he could not move fast enough to make it to him before the ranger pulled the bolt back and fired again. The flash lit the room up again as the wastelander felt the bullet tear by his ear as his opponent was lit up just for a second.

Literally diving into the ranger and the gun he found himself on top of the struggling NCR commando as much by luck than anything. Struggling to keep Scranton down without passing out the Mojave walker reached to his vest and pulled the pin on his last grenade. Letting the timer cook off a couple of possibly fatal seconds he punched Scranton in the face with the live grenade in his hand before dropping it next to him.

Disengaging and running as fast as he could away in his injured state he barely made it to the other side of the room before the grenade went off. Throwing himself to the ground the explosion wracked his already taxed body and he passed out without remembering much of the impact.

Waking up with his lungs burning the Word Bearer was almost annoyed to be alive. With his adrenaline winding down the pain was almost unbearable as he used a desk to get to his feet. Breathing in short, shallow gulps of air as his entire back burned with agony he moved back to where Scranton should have been. It was still dark but he stepped in and around what was left of the ranger. Satisfied that the hated ranger was finally dead the injured wastelander shuffled back to the stairwell. Steadying himself on the wall he stumbled down the steps and made it to the first floor.

Resting on the first desk he came to as the pain throbbed all over he worked up the nerve to stand without help. Stumbling towards the building's exit he almost swooned as he made it into the open air. Unable to continue standing he fell to his hands and knees as he neared unconsciousness again. Forcing himself to move he crawled forward towards the torture room on all fours. It seemed like it took him hours to make it that short distance but he finally made it to the other building. Getting five feet into the door he made it just past the dead NCR guards when he collapsed for good. His advanced healing might save him but the bullets were bound to have carried infectious material into his body which would be significantly harder to treat if left unchecked.

"Cass!" he bellowed. "Cass, get up here! I need your help!"

Around a minute later the blind survivalist appeared at the top of the stairwell and was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. "Over here." he called weakly and she confidently moved towards him.

"This place reeks of the dead." she commented.

"Yeah..."

"You've been shot." she noted.

"How...?"

"You've got that sound in your voice like it's hard to breathe. And I can smell your implanted blood, it's got a funny tinge to it. Not to mention you reek of cordite. I forgot how much anarchy you can cause in a short amount of time."

"Eh, when you're popular..."

"Thought maybe you and Scranton killed each other. Or maybe that you left me here."

"Nope...can we continue this conversation when I'm not bleeding...?"

"Oh, yes. Where to?"

"Take me to the chem lab...hughh...here's going to be a body on the floor and in the bed I'll need you to haul out of the way. Then...ugh, this hurts, help me get onto the bed."

"Just like the old days. Cass do this, Cass do that."

"Please? Rose of Sharon?"

"Fine, just don't call me that."

He waited a few long minutes as she felt her way into the room and started moving the bodies out of the way. Returning to drag him rather unceremoniously to the room by his arms every inch sent pain signals lancing through his back. She hauled him up and he steeled himself to avoid crying out as she helped him flop face first onto the still blood-soaked mattress.

"Ew." he said as he came into contact with sticky remains of the doctor. After a minute of calming himself down he said, "All right...five paces in front of you there's a shelf...on top of it there's a bottle of whiskey. Bring it here."

Walking carefully she felt for the half empty bottle and amazingly handed it to him without taking a swig for herself. "Good, now behind you is a chem lab. On the counter to the left of the main set up is a pan of medical tools. Bring the whole tray over to me."

Doing as she was told his unseeing assistant brought him the tools he hoped would do the trick. "Now comes the hard part. Get this armor off of me and when it's off, cut open my shirt from the bottom all the way to the neck with the scalpel."

"Isn't that going to hurt?"

"Not as much as what is going to happen right afterward."

Yanking the armor off of him his back burned every time he so much as moved his arms but it could not be helped. Cutting through his shirt with surprising deftness Cassidy still jabbed his neck with very tip of the surgical instrument.

"Ow."

"Sorry! Sorry."

"This is going to go well..." he muttered.

"Oh shut up. What next?"

"Wad up a big chunk of the shirt. Yeah, there, now put it in front of my mouth."

"Here?"

"Yeah, that's good...now, pour a bit of the whiskey onto your fingers and feel for the bullet wounds. When you find them, pour whiskey into them."

"That's going to hurt like hell."

"Tell me about it." he said and bit down on the wadded up cloth. Unscrewing the cap Cassidy poured some of the foul smelling liquid onto her hands and rubbed it in. Feeling along his sore back she quickly found he gaping wounds and the Word Bearer mentally prepared for the incredible amount of pain he was about to be in. Fortunately he had a lifetime of enduring such pain and would let his body react the way it had to.

The whiskey hit his wound and he spasmed immediately from what felt like coals and bit down on the cloth hard enough to make his jaw hurt. It took a few minutes for the intense searing to subside and he nearly blacked out again. It took him longer to form cohesive thoughts and spit out the cloth.

"You okay?" Cassidy asked.

"No..." he panted. "Thuh...there on the pan there's some forceps and tweezers. Sterilize them and then go digging for the bullets."

"What! Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Of course it isn't a good idea...maybe it's the blood loss talking but I can't do this myself and you're the closest thing I have to a nurse. If there's bits of cloth or ceramics in there they need to come out before they give me a nasty infection."

"You do know I can't see, right?"

"It's a surprisingly feel based operation." he said as he listened to her clean the tools. "Just get out anything hard that isn't supposed to be there. Unless it's bone. Feels like the slugs were slowed by the armor so they didn't- yaaaaaaaargh!" he cried as Cassidy put the forceps into his wound.

"What!"

"Warn me next time!" he snapped and bit down on the cloth again. The annoyed patient tried to focus on other things and keep pain as an abstract while she prodded his soft tissue with her gigantic fingers. Twice he fainted when she went after the bullets and the third time he was sure he was dead. Waking when Cassidy was gently shaking him he felt like he had been dumped off a cliff and run over by an army of Super Mutant joggers to boot.

"Wha..."

"Hey! Are you still alive?" she was asking.

"Uuuuuuuungh..." he groaned.

"I got the bullets. Weren't too deep in like you said."

"Enhanced skin'll do that..." he breathed out and slowly his thoughts coalesced as the trauma wore off. "Good job...Cass...get yourself cleaned off. I'm going to sleep for a week. Should be healed by the time I wake up."

Aware of her moving around the weary Word Bearer slipped into a grateful sleep that was peaceful for the first time in weeks. He woke a few times to adjust uncomfortably but otherwise slept straight through. The pain in his back at first kept bothering him but eventually it subsided to the point where he could rest normally. When he woke up for good it was still dark and he was absolutely starving.

Delicately touching his back he found his range of motion only a little sore and unrestricted. Thick scabs covered his wounds which appeared to have been healing well. Stretching and flexing he found minor soreness and random pains but nothing that would not heal up in the next day or two. Cassidy had done a superb job cleaning and dressing his injuries for him even without the aid of sight.

Swinging his legs out to the floor he stopped for a few minutes as he sat upright to let himself adjust. Squinting at the headrush being vertical brought on he surveyed the room when the dark spots in obscured his vision went away. The bodies had been moved out of it and the bloody pan of tools used on his surgery were at the foot of the bed. Reaching down to them he picked up the bullets Cassidy had dug out of him. Rattling the lumps of metal around in his hand like New Vegas dice he put them in his dirty pocket for good luck.

Climbing to his unsteady feet the Mojave legend walked out into the torture room. He could see the sun going down as it painted the outside in shades of orange while the room was still dark. Sitting in the very chair he had been abused in was Rose of Sharon Cassidy. The empty whiskey bottle by her feet did not fit the scene as she did not appear to be in a good mood.

"You're up." she said and had clearly been drinking. "Who could stop the great savior of New Vegas?"

"Had a few, I see."

"Three years sober. The fuck for?" she snarled. "If I'd known that this was how things would end I'd have drunk myself stupid every night."

"Cass-"

"Don't come any closer." she warned and brandished a Sequoia. "It's loaded."

"You aren't going to shoot me Cass."

"No. Nope. Probably not. We're even now." she said and slowly put the gun barrel to her head. "Do feel like shooting someone though."

"Cass, stop!" he cried and put up a hand even though she could not see it. She laughed cruelly but there was more sadness than humor in her voice.

"First time you've sounded concerned since you got here. Can torture you seven ways to Sunday but put a gun to ol' Cass and you freak out."

"This isn't funny anymore."

"You think this is a joke?" she asked with her scarred eyes on the verge of tears. "It isn't, _Courier_." she spat.

"Rose of-"

"Courier." she repeated. "You never eveeen told me your real name. We're sucsh good friends, even fucked once and you can't even be bothered to tell me your real name. Some friend you've been, ya dickhead."

Sighing the wasteland assassin sat on the dingy floor. "I don't have one."

"You- what?"

"I don't have a real name to tell you."

"Bullsheeet." she slurred.

"I don't know where I'm from or where I was born." he admitted. "I've always been on the road. The people around me just called me 'kid'. I thought that was my name for a while but it wasn't. I didn't really get a name until I joined up with the Mojave Express. That's where I picked up my...pseudonym."

"What's that?"

"They needed me to have a name other than Courier. For their paperwork, records. So I was assigned one. Never really used it unless it was Express business but it was the only one I had. Never really fit me though. Courier just sounded more...right. It was what I was."

Cassidy was quiet but she didn't put the gun down either. "Never told anyone that before." he said. "You're the only one I'd ever want to tell it to. Why are you doing this, Cass? Why now after everything that's happened?"

"I can't kill you. Not after what you've done for me. Not after everything we...but I know you. You won't stop, can't shtop. Not until you get what you want. You always get what you want. Not this time you don't you New Vegas sacka' shit."

Tears began to roll down her face and the Word Bearer chose his words extremely carefully. "This isn't about me, Cassidy. Tell me what's really wrong before you go."

"I can't...not everyone is like you!" she said sourly. "Look at this place. This is a day in the life for you. You'll keep killing and destroying because of me. You'll blow up the rest...NCR just like Vegas. And it's all my fault 'cause I ain't got the balls to shoot you myself."

"No, Cassidy, my fault and mine alone. The NCR is done for already but they won't accept it. If I help them along then it is no different. But the guilt, the responsibility is mine alone to bear. You're no more responsible for me than I am for the Cazadores."

"I should have killed you! You deserve it! But I...fuck I can't!" she raged with the gun to her own head. "I can't live with this sssshit. Everything you're gunna do. I can't take that either...can't be responsible..."

* * *

========[ - [Speech 100] Put down the gun, Cass. Let me convince you that I'm right.

========[ - You're right, I won't stop. If you can't handle that, then this is goodbye.

* * *

(Select choice from chapter menu)


	9. First Choice

"Yeah? You going to make everything all better? Going to haul a cripple around with you while you 'bring the Divide' to the whole world?" Cassidy asked him as the Word Bearer edged closer to her.

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Weak." she cursed. "The wasteland chews up weakness and spits it out."

"I'm the Courier. I'm the one who chews up the wasteland, not the other way around. Please, Cass. Let me look after you. It's the least I could do after everything that's happened. If I can't convince you that what I'm doing is right then...well I can't watch you all day every day." he pleaded even as he was just a couple arm's lengths away.

"And then I become your accomplice." she shook her head.

"No. You'll never help me in what I do. You'll stay what you are: my friend, my last friend, my only friend left in the whole world."

Crying Cassidy put her hand over her eyes. The Sequoia slipped down to her side to point at the floor and while attempting to seem like he was being casual the Word Bearer quickly put his hand on the revolver. Gently tugging the gun from her hand he tossed it aside. Hugging the blind woman's head to his chest he asked, "What would you give me for a basket of kisses?"

She didn't answer.

* * *

The small rest stop was little more than a couple of shacks serving wasteland food which amounted to rad animals killed that morning. The Herald of Ulysses hefted his pack and headed inside despite his reluctance to patronize such a place. A wasteland pit stop like this one was just begging for the Divide. Ducking into the makeshift door Marcus nodded to the shop keep.

"What have you got?" he asked.

"Fresh iguana and bighorn meat. Guaranteed not to give a stomach ache." the wasteland woman said.

"Caps?"

"Ten."

Dispensing the payment Marcus scanned the diner. There were few other patrons as he suspected and he set his pack down in one of the somewhat clean booths. Resting an elbow on the table he was thinking about his trip when a man and a woman got up to leave. The man he knew from somewhere but the woman he didn't and it took him a couple seconds after they walked by to remember why he knew the stranger.

Rushing out of the diner to catch up with them Marcus called, "Excuse me!' to the couple. The man spun around so quickly Marcus was taken aback. His hard eyes bore into the Herald and for a moment he wondered if he'd made a mistake.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I think we've met before." Marcus explained. "In Sunny Bluff."

The man's eyes softened and his expression changed when he too recognized the Herald. "Ah yeah. You're the feller I tussled with. Spoutin' that Courier garbage."

"Yes. Did you hear about Sunny Bluff?"

"Everyone has." Lyle spat. "Way I heard it the place was mostly abandoned anyhow. Reckon someone ought to thank you for scaring them folks away."

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for upsetting you. I was just trying to warn people." Marcus apologized.

"Take a big man to admit he's wrong. Sorry I had'a knock you down." Lyle tipped his hat.

"Look, I'm heading north. There's a camp of us. Heralds I mean. We're starting a new town, a new way of living. You're welcome there if you want."

"A new nation?" Lyle scratched his chin.

"You could say that. More of what's called a monastery." Marcus explained.

"A monastic community is usually bound by religion." Lyle observed somewhat more astutely than Marcus would have assumed he was capable of.

"Ah, true, but this isn't quite like that. We'd be more a history based community. We will use the lessons of the Great War, the prewar societies and the Word to help guide us to something different. Hopefully something better."

"Hmm. Ulysses would have like that." Lyle said thoughtfully.

"Pardon me? I though you were-"

"A nation taking its first breath. I always wondered what he saw there in the Divide that was so special. Worth dying over." Lyle continued as if the other man wasn't there and somehow lost his drawl.

"What! Who-"

Lyle yanked Marcus in close by the collar with frightening strength. "You'd better not mess this up. I don't want some half assed experiment gone wrong being done in my name." he growled with a voice that was not his own.

"Wuh...wuh...Word Bearer!"

"I'll be checking in on you." he promised and released the Herald. Turning around the Courier – _the_ Courier! - took the hand of his female companion and walked down the road into the dust. Marcus could only stare open mouthed as the two of them disappeared into the swirling sands like a mirage that had never been there in the first place.

"Hey! Mister!" someone called. "Been talking to you. Order's ready." the shop keep was saying from the door of the diner.

"Yeah..." Marcus blinked as he turned around.

"You okay mister?"

"...yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Just thought I saw a ghost is all."

"Ghosts are all around us. It's a good idea not to piss them off."

"You have no idea how right you are, ma'am."

Sitting in the booth he ate his iguana and thought long about the story he would tell to his fellow Heralds when he made it North. He wasn't sure if they would believe him. He hardly believed what just happened himself. But the Courier was a man of his word and he would most certainly be by the new settlement. Marcus could only hope he liked what he saw or there'd probably be a massacre.

Of course, he wouldn't have it any other way.

The End


	10. Second Choice

"I should have known it would have come to this." she said sadly. "You've got too much of a one track mind to have it any other way."

"And you've got far too much of a closed mind to believe in me." he shot back.

"I just thought maybe it would different between us." she said. "I don't know why."

"Everything could have been different between us, Cass. You chose to hunt me, set the NCR dogs on me, chase me across the wasteland. None of this had to happen but you chose to make it. Don't talk to me about what could have been different. I would have made you a goddess among men. Burned Shady Sands to the ground and wrote your name in the ashes."

"And I'd become your accomplice." she shook her head.

"No. As you can see I never needed your help. I would have taken care of you but you never let me. We could have spent the last seven years finding some measure of happiness in the hell this world has become. But you threw it all away for your pride."

Cassidy was quiet and when she spoke again there was a finality in her voice that the Word Bearer knew well. "You promised to write about me, about your followers if you made it out of here. You made it out just fine. Was that an empty promise or did you mean it?"

"I've never lied to you, Rose of Sharon Cassidy. You have no idea the personal sacrifice you ask for me to reveal this history of mine but I agreed to do it for you. Your name will live on in the Word, even if you yourself will not."

He walked past her and set his hand on her trembling shoulder. She looked at him with scarred eyes and he kept going towards the waiting exit. It was another mile on the road, another pitfall in the many that had dogged his every step since picking up that fated Platinum Chip. Everything had been a falling line of dominoes since that very moment that had led him inexorably to this one. The death of his last true friend was just another in the long line of things he had given up to make the world a more sane place.

The Word Bearer was nearly out of the base when he heard the single gunshot. He stopped for a moment to pull the two bullets out of his pocket and jingle them in his hand. Turning around he threw them back towards the base and headed out into the desert.

* * *

The small rest stop was little more than a couple of shacks serving wasteland food which amounted to rad animals killed that morning. The Herald of Ulysses hefted his pack and headed inside despite his reluctance to patronize such a place. A wasteland pit stop like this one was begging for a Mark. Ducking into the makeshift door Marcus nodded to the shop keep.

"What have you got?" he asked.

"Fresh iguana and bighorn meat. Guaranteed not to give a stomach ache." the wasteland woman said.

"Caps?"

"Ten."

Dispensing the payment Marcus scanned the diner. There were few other patrons as he suspected and he set his pack down in one of the somewhat clean booths. He was about to sit down when he heard the distant _blip!_ of a gun being fired from far away. Something hit nearby and a woman screamed from outside.

"Raiders!" a man yelled just before another pop took out someone else. Marcus got low to the ground and the few scared patrons of the diner tried to make for the exit. A wastelander man got to the doorway before a round from a massive gun tore his chest apart. The shop keep screamed and there was mass panic all around the Herald who managed to keep his cool. Raiders were never going to take him alive and as long as he put down a few before he went he could die happy.

People tried to escape out of the back but Marcus heard the _pop pop pop!_ of successive shots and the thud of dead weight hitting an uncaring ground. When all was quiet Marcus pulled his weapons from his bag. Crafted from wood was a pack of flame hardened throwing spikes that were to be launched from his personally made spear thrower. He could nail the weak points in armor at close distances or put one into a moving target's eye socket and would drop a raider or three for sure. For when they came in close he pulled on a leather gauntlet with a single sharpened metal spike made from the barrel of a gun.

Staying quiet he waited until he heard movement from outside. The smell of burning gasoline hit his nose and for a moment he had to wonder if he'd run into the Word Bearer. That didn't make any sense though so he crept towards the door and peered outside with his spear thrower at the ready.

Not seeing anyone he was confident enough to step out into the waste. The gasoline smell returned as the spear thrower was knocked down his hand in a flash. Turning to face his assailant he came face to face with a gas mask wearing, duster clad man pointing a flaming sword at him. Too shocked to even move Marcus simply held up his hands at the sight of the Word Bearer.

"I...I...I..." he stuttered.

"Good tools. Original. Not some cheap knock off." the deadliest of any wasteland wanderers growled from underneath his full face mask.

"I mean you no harm, Courier!" Marcus managed to get out.

"You harm me? Don't be ridiculous, Herald."

"Was this location to be Marked?" he asked timidly.

"No. I was just having a bad day." the human nightmare said.

"I...I was heading north. Going to start a new nation. In Ulysses' name." Marcus said and wondered if this would even matter to the other man.

"Do you want to live?" the Courier asked as if Marcus hadn't said a word.

"Yes! Yes. I...I have good left to do, Courier."

"Gather these bodies and burn them along with this hellhole of a wasteland stop. I'll be watching you and this new nation of yours." he said and got in Marcus' face with that burning blade. "And if you and your friends fuck up, I'm going to slaughter the lot of you."

Shaking Marcus managed to nod as the Courier turned away from him. Looking over his shoulder at the Herald he disappeared into the dust and the image of his star-spangled back would haunt Marcus for years to come. It was many minutes before he could think to do something other than stare stupidly in the distance. Snapping out of it he dutifully began to gather what was left of the other wastelanders and dragged them back into the diner for a final rest. He would have quite the story to tell when he made it North.

The End


End file.
